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IX-iSIIS AHTSLIB, 


BY 

SARA L. MECRACKEN. 


STAR PUBLISHING CO. 

332 MAIN STREET. SPRINGFIELD, MASS. 





[ Copy lighted 1885, by the Star Publishing Company.] 

Price, 25 cents. Postage 2 cents. 









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ELSIE -A.IETSX-IE, 


A VICTIM OF SOCIAL WRONG. 


BY 

S’ 

SABA L. ME CRAG KEN. 


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STAR PUBLISHING CO. 


332 MAIN STREET, SPRINGFIEL] 

NOV 23 I8S6 ^ ' 


*>£&U.7c-* 


HIN' 


[ Copyrighted 1885, by the Star Publishing Company.] 

Price, 25 cents. Postage 2 cents. 




v 



DEDICATION. 

We kindly dedicate this book to our Aunt Mary, in whoso 
home we have written this work, in commemoration of her many 
self-sacrifices in life, and kindly assistance to ourselves, as one of 
our best earth friends, tiie author. 


CHAPTER I. 


It was a low-roofed cottage, standing back from the highway. 
The sloping roof and gable ends bore the impress of time’s fingers; 
the old elms swayed listlessly, with their heavy branches, while 
their moss-grown trunks spread out their gnarled roots among the 
greensward. Nicely kept borders of flowers, added their attract- 
ions to the yard, which seemed to be the especial favorite of grand- 
ma Ainslie, who watches, with tender care, each bud and blos- 
som. As she stands in the doorway, you see much to admire in the 
broad placid brow, whereon the silver ringlets rest lovingly. The 
mild blue eyes, the tender mouth, all tell of past tribulations, 
which have left their impress, and given a look of resignation 
to the noble face. 

As you pass into the cottage, you see evidence of thrift and 
neatness, from the carpet, woven by her own hands, to the mus* 
lin curtains swaying in the breeze; boxes of heliotrope and mign- 
onette border the window ledge, while roses, in bloom, send forth 
their fragrance. 

“Out of small beginnings, are great endings:” so grandma 
thinks, as she remembers the days gone by, when this home was 
but a tangled mass of weeds, and fast going to decay; but, behold 
the change time and thrifty fingers make, where deft hands find 
willing work ! And as her thoughts turn backward, we, too, will 
trace them in their windings. 

“It is over there,” she murmurs, “we laid them six long years 
ago. It seems so long, so long!” 

Involuntarily we follow the dim eyes, which settle upon an en- 
closure, amid a cluster of trees. “Over there” where the sighing 
wind is speaking among the branches, mournful tones, two head- 


2 

stones mark the resting place, while carefully nurtured flowers are 
blooming above the dust. It is but a few steps beyond, and the 
well-worn path, attests the many footsteps tending there. She 
muses on; “Six years, since the blow came, Oh! s© heavily, and 
I am left alone. Father, Thou knowest all things best. I will 
not murmur; but it is so hard!” 

“What is hard, grandma?” and a quick bounding step was at, 
her side, while bright questioning eyes scanned the tear-dimmed 
ones above. His is a lithe, agile form, with starry eyes of deep 
blue, and a sunny brow, where the golden curls cluster around 
like a halo of light. 

For a moment she heeded him not ; then swift-gushing tears 
flowed, as she hastily gathered him to her breast, saying; “Not all 
gone, not all, while you remain, brave boy. I will try to be con- 
tent.” 

And as he nestles there, knowing no other resting place, she 
feels the desire to live and see him stand forth a man in nature’s 
divinest sense. Lifting up the sweet face, she bade him go out 
among the flowers, while she took up the thread of life anew, with 
lofty, holy determination, and thus she mused. 

“No, he shall not be one to mar the life of innocence, nor wear 
the victor’s crown of debauchery and wrong; my few remaining 
days shall be devoted to pluck one brand from the seething hell 
of social wrong. He shall be taught the true responsibilities 
which belong to his own soul, bodily and mentally. God guide 
• me in this work, and give me strength to combat all evil tenden- 
cies.” 

»->»■>-♦ 

CHAPTER II. 

Ten years have passed. A palatial mansion rises before our 
view. The marble front gleams coldly in the moonlight, but shad- 
ows linger pleasantly among the arbors and trellised vines; roses 
swaying in the wind, rich fragrance distill around ; marble vases, 
supported by beautiful figures, stand here and there. The ara- 


3 

besque carvings of the portico standout in full relief; graceful vines 
festoon the columns; a winding path, bordered with flowers, seeks 
a shady retreat, where a fountain plays, throwing its spray around. 
There are seats in this bowered alcove, where the dreamer may 
retire to meditate, or the gay butterfly of fashion while away an 
hour. 

Mark Ainslie owns this, and, aye more. Look, within the cur- 
tained recess of that alcoved window; — a lady, fair to look upon, 
but who bears marks upon her features time never gave, — of a 
light, graceful figure, with Sunny brown hair, where the gold 
loves to linger ; a fffi-ehead low and broad; dark hazel eyes look 
out beneath the finely pencilled brows; the sweet, but mobile 
mouth has a look of indecision. “A reed swayed by the wind,” is 
her fitting symbol. She looks young to be the mother of the fair 
girl at her side, but Elsie, her pride and darling, is winsome in 
the extreme. Scarce sixteen summers have touched her golden 
hair, or played hide-and-seek amid the dimples of her rosy mouth; 
the delicate complexion, with sea-shell pink lingering on the 
rounded cheek, seems almost too transparent to last; deep blue 
eyes look out wistfully to catch the first glimpse of some loved one. 
The mother’s arms are folded around her in tender embrace. 

“Elsie, my loved one, promise me you will never marry without 
love.” 

“Oh! mamma, how could I? Would it not be wicked?” and 
the blue eyes looked anxiously into the sorrowing ones bent upon 
her. 

“Yes, darling; but we are sometimes impelled to act from 
wrong impulses ; sometimes ignorant of the greatest wrong — that 
wrong which defrauds another of ‘what might have been’ — and 
from want of knowledge of ourselves.” 

“Well, mamma, I will study my man out ;” she said gaily, as 
her eager ear detected a well-known step upon the walk. “There 
comes papa!” and with a girlish bound she clasps her arms around 
the much desired intruder. Mark Ainslie is a man we would turn 
again to look upon ; of strong muscular build, denoting athletic 


4 

ability; keen blue eyes, his daughter’s very own, denoting integri- 
ty and honor; a firm, but pleasing mouth, with a broad high brow, 
which gave a commanding aspect; he was above medium height, 
of shapely proportions, while the once dark hair now held the 
snow of sixty winters. 

“Oh, papa!” Elsie exclaimed, as she sat upon his knee, like a 
very child; “I want a promise.” 

“A promise, Elsie; what is it? A new dress, or may be a doll,” 
he laughingly added; “for I believe you have not left off childish 
things.” 

“Oh! no, neither. But guess, can’t you, fof I will make a good 
hole in your pocket-book?” 

“Well, lam used to that; so here goes. A trip to Nahant; 
don’t think large pitchers haven’t ears, too.” 

“Oh, you heard Lucy and I, at our planning ; and you won’t 
say no, will you?” 

“No, pet; I guess I never did, so will not begin now. There, 
jump up, I must speak to mother now.” 

Why do those hazel eyes look so darkly intent into vacancy? 
Why does the brow knit with deep thought, and lips move with 
words unspoken. 

“Amy,” the husband said, gently ; “I have a letter from mother 
to-day.” 

A quick glance is the answer. He pauses and hesitates before 
proceeding. 

“Well, what is it, Mark?” at last his wife says. 

“She says there has been but little return on the farm this year; 
the children are all married and gone, and father, as you know, 
under the sod. So she wishes to come to us, perhaps to remain if 
we wish it.” 

“Iam sure I do not care. I have never attempted to control 
your desires.” 

“God knows, I wish you had, in one instance;” is the unspok- 
en thought. “Then I will write for her to come, as she must 
know without delay.” 


5 


“I am willing,” is the cold answer. 

Mark Ainslie’s brow knit in painful thought. The woman he 
called wife, was so in outward meaning; but alas! the inward. 
He felt the bitter wrong, where injudicious love on one side, and 
desire for wealth on the other, had made this barren field of con- 
jugal life. 

“It is bitter,” he murmured. “I might have known better. 
Gray hairs and nut-brown tresses,” he said bitterly. “I thought 
to win her love. God knows how much I have tried, but it can- 
not be. An inexorable fate seems against me. Oh! Elsie, darling 
Elsie, you alone are the sunlight to our darkened souls ; strange 
such a beautiful link lies between.” 

Amy, for once, endeavored to shake from herself the apathy 
which seemed to hold her in thrall. 

“Mark, my husband, to-night I have been dreaming over the 
days gone by. Elsie is just the age I was, when I gave myself to 
you. Do you remember that eventide, when you placed flowers 
in my hair, and called me Amy, your pet and pride? You were 
noble looking, and I thought I could return your love; but visions 
of wealth and fashion were brighter far than the diamond which 
sealed our betrothal. I was honest in thinking I, in time, could 
love; but I wronged you in saying I did love. Can you forgive 
me the injury, for to-night I feel the stain?” 

“I do, God helping me,” he said, while his tones shook with 
emotion. “The past, Amy, cannot be canceled, except as we im- 
prove the future. Are you willing to commence anew?” 

“I am willing to strive, for Elsie’s sake, to live in harmony. 
It is all that is left to do: but no resurrection, I fear, awaits this 
heart, which seems as cold as this flitting moonlight.” 

After this a deep silence settled on the two— 

So near in outward seeming, 

So far, in real meaning. 

No mansion in New York presented a fairer outward aspect; but 
within there lived a worm which doth destroy. 


CHAPTER III. 


The city was one blaze of light ; equipages were rolling here 
and there, banners streaming upon the breeze, and balconies 
crowded with beauty and fashion ; for it was a gala day, when the 
city turned out to do honor to a prince of royal blood. The surg- 
ing mass of curious spectators, swayed and seethed with expecta- 
tion, for nobility and republicanism were this day, hand in hand. 

See there, the royal train, where a prince doth lead, the daz- 
zling splendor of the pageant ; after, follow the notables in car- 
riages, while the motley crowd of those on foot bring up the rear. 

“My God, Sid, see there ! Is not that beauty worth having ?” 
The speaker was a man of thirty, strong, well made, with a light 
flowing beard, waving hair of lustrous brown, eyes, dark and in- 
tense in their deep hazel ; but a furtive, quick movement, belong- 
ing to them, spoke of a desire to see, and not to be seen. There was 
a nervous twitching, at times, about the well-formed mouth, 
which spoke of things better unsaid, but with difficulty withheld. 
Altogether, the impression was of a person who could deceive 
with impunity, and cover well his tracks of wrong doing. He 
was handsome, and hollow-hearted, yet one of the millionaires ; 
a very nabob, who prided himself upon fastidious discrimina- 
tions. 

Thus, Albert Leslie believed himself possessed of powerful at- 
tractions, and spurned the thought of plebeian intercourse. Pride’s 
deepest curse was imprinted upon every feature. The doors of 
all the elite, swung gladly open for him. He had no business, 
deserving the name, yet his cognomen might be seen connected 
with another, as one of New York’s bankers. 

To seek pleasure, and yet not spoil his immaculate appearance, 


7 

was liis real employment. His companion, his chum and confi- 
dent, was his opposite, both in appearance and character. Sid- 
ney worth did not lack principle, but was quick and impulsive 
in many things. A friendship had sprung up between the two, 
through the law of - opposites. They had grown up side by side, 
and went from “a-b-c-dom” to the diplomas their alma-mater 
bestowed. 

Sidney was of low stature, very fair, with kind, blue eyes, light 
flaxen hair, cropped close, broad-shouldered, with a laughing look 
about the mouth, which spoke of good humor and ready love of 
a joke. 

“Say, Sid, did you ever see any one so beautiful?” 

“Who? where? By Jove, there are so many pretty ones, I 
don’t see your especial divinity.” 

“There! that carriage with the cream-colored horses.” 

“Oh, ah! Mabelle Elsie Ainslie. I have heard of her, through 
sister Ethel ; but I hear her parents are very dragons of protec- 
tion, and say she shall not appear in society until her eighteenth 
birth-day.” 

“Ye Gods! may I be there to see.” — Albert drew a deep, long 
breath. “I will pass for twenty-five, and win her,” is his mental 
ejaculation. 

Sidney was too much engrossed in another direction, to heed 
his friend’s abstraction. So the friends moved on with the throng. 

Elsie, the object of comment, was, indeed, beautiful, with a 
childlike beauty, utterly unconscious of the jewel. She was chat- 
ting gaily with her parents, with a quick appreciation of all 
around her. Her mind, as yet, had not been turned into the 
channel where most girls of her age had landed, viz: beaus and 
belles. But, for one of her years, she had much substantial in- 
struction, and was trained to examine, and investigate the realities 
of life. With this, she possessed a large vital activity, an earnest 
truthfulness, and entire confidence in those she loved. Sensitive 
and tender in her sympathies, quick and keen in outer perception, 
which over-balanced her inner conception, with a surface educa- 


8 

tion, she would have been a very butterfly of fashion. As it was, 
she had an insight given, which barely held her back. She was. 
largely imaginative , and wildly exuberant. These crossings of 
many attributes, gave a variety to her character, which was the 
chief charm. The mobile features always betrayed the workings 
within. 

— ♦♦♦ 

CHAPTER TV. 

The ship stood with flag at half-mast, the gaily decorated bunt- 
ing, flaunting upon the breeze. Steps were running to and fro, 
while the warning notes of “All aboard!” rang out upon the air. 

“Clear the way, all hands there!” shouted the captain, as the 
ship swung out of harbor. Many standing on the shore, were 
watching the receding forms of loved ones, waving kisses and 
adieus until no longer seen. 

Standing, deeply engaged in thought, was a gentleman with 
mild, kind aspect. The furrow's of time had left their signet up- 
on his brow. Hair once dark, was deeply touched with snow; his 
eyes had a far off, meditative aspect, as if looking, yet seeing not. 
By his side there stood a petite form, robed in sunny white. 
So fragile and gentle she seemed, you almost feared a passing 
breeze would bear her away. The small hands are clasped 
upon that protecting arm, and the small form swayed with uncon- 
trollable emotion. 

“There, Lilly, daughter: do not weep so strongly. You will 
wear yourself out, and have nothing left to cheer papa with;” he 
said this, endeavoring to divert her attention from herself. 

Oh! papa, it seems so sad; how am I to bear it? Our native 
land, w'e may never see again, and my childhood’s home must be 
as a recollection; while away in heathen lands we know not what 
time may bring.” 

“There is an A 11 -Father, Lilly, w r ho W'atches over those w T ho 
love him: put your trust in him.” 


9 

“I do, father, but when 1 think of mamma, so far away, lying 
there alone, with but the trees and flowers, it seems more than I 
can bear.” 

Poor, motherless Lilly ! From birth she had been a delicate 
child, sensitive, retiring and reticent, but affectionate in the ex- 
treme ; fondly attached to her mother, whose health suffered in 
India’s sunny clime, but where relief came too late, in her own 
native land. So it was that Mr. Arnold had buried his loved one, 
and was now returning to his distant field of labor, where so 
many go who never return. It was thus he felt for his only 
child ; he knew almost to a certainty that she was not long for 
earth. As he folded his arms about her, a silent prayer went up- 
ward. “My Father, Thy will not mine, be done.” 

“There, Lilly, we must go below; and after you rest awhile, we 
will have a walk on deck. You must seek to gather strength, for 
you are my all, now.” 

As he led her weeping away, there were many eyes moistened 
with sympathy. Standing furthur off were a gentleman and lady 
much engrossed with each other. They, too, were leaving their 
native land ; but it was a bridal trip. Gay friends had smilingly 
bid them adieu: warm hand-clasps had wished them much joy, 
and many wishes for a safe return. 

“Did you see that child-like girl, Edgar?” exclaimed his fair 
dependent. “She looks like a lily bowed down in a storm.” 

“And so she is, no doubt; her mother and mine were friends, 
in girlhood days. I hear she has lately died, and so the sorrow. 
You must speak to her, Mary, and try to comfort her, for she 
will be very lonely, poor thing.” 

Mary assented, with a smile, and so the ship sailed on, bearing 
its human hearts; some fraught with woe, some with gladness 
and others on busy cares intent. 


CHAPTER Y. 

On the morrow, the sun shone clear and bright. There was an 
intense stillness in the atmosphere — a calm which precedes a 
storm. But no one seemed to anticipate aught destructive, or to 
fear some boding evil, near at hand ; friends walked the deck, or 
amused themselves in various ways ; while overhead a faultless 
sky looked down into the clear waters. All seemed joyous and 
tranquil. 

“Wall, Jack! there’s a lion in the air, or I mistake me,” said 
one shipmate, to another. “There’s calmns before storms, as 
well as after.” 

“I count, then, the captain’s not looking for one said Jack 
Dare. 

“Not much, he; I guess he thinks sufficient unto the day, is 
the evil thereof; but if I don’t err, he will wish before dark that 
he had had his eyes peeled a little better.” 

“Well, don’t grumble, or we will dub you Grumbling Jim,” said 
laughing Jack, who went about his duties in a manner which 
said, “Hang it all, I am not afraid.” 

The captain stood smoking his cigar with a nonchalant air. 
He had a strong, broad, athletic build, with a face full of honest 
intentions, but with a wavering, undecided look about his short 
curved lips; a putting off for to-morrow, what should be done to- 
day, was his particular failing. He was a man, tender as woman 
in his sympathies, but lacked strong decision. In actual danger, 
he was brave, from a chivalrous sense, to protect the weaker; but 
like many, was often caught unguarded. 

“Pish ! pashaw !” were his ejaculations, at some gentle hints 


11 

from the sailors. “I don’t see the sign of a storm.” 

•‘Wall, it will come on of a suddint, or my name isn’t Jim Din- 
mit,” was the rejoinder; as he had suggested some provision to 
meet an emergency. 

Half bells tolled their time; the ship rocked lazily upon the 
deep. ' Hours passed, but still Jim’s storm came not. 

It was midnight, when a swift sighing wind soughed amongst 
the rigging, succeeded by sharp, quick strokes, and yet the hori- 
zon looked clear. . 

“Wall, here she comes!” says Jim. 

“Oh, yes, your a prophet, and no mistake this time,” says Jack. 

“See there, off on the horizon, a speck, to be sure, but it holds 
in it a regular nor’easter.” 

“All hands on deck!” is the quick, sharp call. The captain is 
awake, now. His even, methodical orders are given loud and 
long. 

But the tempest was upon them, with all its awful fury, in all 
its sickening detail. That is a fearful moment when earth recedes 
and the hereafter comes near: so it was Mr. Arnold felt, as, clasp- 
ing his beloved child, he looked to heaven for protection. 

“Clear away the boats! They are our only hope;” cried the 
captain. 

See, the good ship has sprung a leak, the water is gaining fast, 
and she will soon be engulphed in the waves. 

“Oh! God, have mercy,” is the despairing cry, welling up from 
agonized hearts. 

But Mr. Arnold’s thoughts were upward communing with the 
Divine. “He has tempered ‘the wind to the shorn lamb,’ my dar- 
ling;, he will not desert us in this, our hour of need.” 

“There, stand away, and let the parson, with his daughter in 
the first boat,” Jack Dare cried; “I am going to run this myself, 
and shall have some say.” 

There was wild confusion, rushing to gain seats, chances of be- 
ing swamped, before the boats set out with their respective bur- 


12 


dens. At last all were out o» the stormy deep, at the mercy of 
rude wares, which rolled high, threatening to engulph them each 
moment. 


— 4M 

CHAPTER YL 

As a shipwrecked mariner, Mr. Arnold found himself upon the 
stormy deep. He clasped closely the wildly afflicted Lilly, who 
could cling to his form, and sob her dismay and terror. 

“Heave away there, Jim.” said Jack; “I am going to take the 
lead, and trust to God to lead us safe, somewhere.” 

“Yes, Jack, I know you think you’re safety a sure thing, now 
you have the parson aboard. Well, good-by; if I never see you 
again, and you land, tell Lucy I tried to do my best, as a brave 
sailor. Good-bye, good-bye.” 

Thus the boats’ crews parted, never to meet again on this shore. 
Jack, with the aid he had, piloted the boat out from the sinking 
ship. All had left her, and the captain strained his eyes in the 
darkness to obtain the last glimpse of her — for, as a father to his 
child, he had loved each beam within her. It was with manly 
emotion that he saw her sink, still lower and lower. 

“Gone, never to return,” he said at last, to Jim. 

“Yes, captain, its mighty hard to lose her, but still more al- 
mighty hard to loose our lives.” 

Jim cherished a secret animosity that the captain had not heed- 
ed his advice. 

“Well, Jim, I fear there is a slim prospect of our ever landing. 
Did you stow away plenty of water and bread?” 

“Aye, aye sir; all safe; but I think me, we will never need 
them.” 

At that moment a fierce, strong gust struck the boat with fury, 
capsizing her in an instant. Each one gasped and struck out for 
themselves; but alas! the wild waves were too much for them to 


13 

breast, and each sunk to rise no more. Mary was clasped in her 
husband’s arms, and thus the bridal trip ended in a bridal grave. 

Jack Dare was an experienced sailor; he aimed to keep a sharp 
lookout for “breakers,” as he said. All night they fought for life 
against death; at last the faint grey streaks of dawn appeared, and 
revealed them not far yet from the spot where they had started, 
but the beating rain and fierce wind was now subsiding. 

“Wall, I call this a Providence, and no mistake. I know God 
heard you, parson, for I fear we are the only ones saved ; I feel it 
in my bones the other boat was swamped.” 

“Let us thank God for preserving us so far,” said Mr. Arnold. 
“And, good friend, if you need any of my aid, tell me so.” 

“Pooh! the best thing you can do, is to shield your little 
‘cosset’ there; poor lamb, she will have a tough pull of it, I fear.” 

Lilly had sunk into a fitful slumber where, for a time, her fear 
was forgotten. They rowed all day, but just at nightfall saw a 
ship in the distance. 

“Here, fix me something as a flag; I will signal her and she 
will see us and lie to till we come up. Now row, boys, for your 
lives and loves, my hearties!” 

Then the boat fairly leaped as a live thing, to gain the haven of 
the discerned ship. At last the signal was seen, and the ship 
answered. Six o’clock bells found them all safely at her side, 
where they were assisted on board, and made to feel at home in 
the good ship “Bernard,” bound for the Bermudas. Mr. Arnold 
was thus enabled to go on his mission, and the sailors took berths 
with a new master. Lilly was the greatest sufferer. Her nervous 
system had borne too many shocks for the frail form, so a slow 
nervous fever set in. Her father watched anxiously beside her, 
but the physician said there was no hope. It was then that the 
father prayed she might live until they landed, for the thought 
of committing her body to the deep, was more than he could bear. 
“Oh, God! spare her, if possible; if not, at least let me have her 
grave.” His prayer was granted. The flickering spark of life 
lasted until they landed on a foreign shore. Then, with a faint 


14 

whisper, “I go to find mamma/’ the gentle spirit fled. The be- 
reaved father took up his duties, with a sad aching void nothing 
could fill. He performed every known duty, but the life of his, 
work w r as somehow lacking. 

“I cannot remain here long,” at last he said, “or my life will 
pay the forfeit. I know that the shock upon my system has, 
struck the life forces. I feel the inroads, and if I stay, must soon 
enter my grave.’”' 




CHAPTER VII. 

It was a lovely day at Nahant. The wealth and beauty of the 
metropolis lent enchantment to the spot. Standing on the veran- 
dah of one of the hotels was a youthful pair. The fresh bloom 
and beauty of the elder, bore a vivid contrast to the crippled, de- 
formed girl at her side ; yet there was something pleasing in the 
p atient eyes, which looked out so longingly and wistfully. Er- 
megrade Alton was the only child of wealthy parents. She was 
their pet and pride, until at six years of age, she was injured by a 
severe fall, and thereby crippled for life, leaving a stunted form, 
instead of the buoyant, happy being she had once been. It was a 
source of grief and disappointment to her parents, as they had in 
her their all, and hoped some day to have realized a splendid 
match, thereby giving them a son. The lady at her side is a 
niece of Mr. Alton; a dependent on their bounty, but in actual 
seeming, an adopted daughter. The proud, high-strung girl 
chafed at the restraint she felt, her uncle as her guardian and 
adopted father, placed upon her. She was a child of the wild- wood. 
The “Wild Rose,” as some had called her, was born of respectable 
but poor parents : becoming an orphan at sixteen, she was taken 
to her uncle’s home, first as a dependent, afterward adopted as 
some surety of a son and heir. She was passionately attached to 
her cousin Erme. Her quick sympathetic nature took hold, with 
earnest devotion of every task that could make her life time bright- 


15 

or. The clear olive complexion, turned into rose leaves on the dim- 
pled cheek and rounded mouth; the eyes were of a dark, deep 
brown, and like the wild gazelle, quick aud bright in their move- 
ments, while the long silken lashes drooped over them, giving a 
shy, apprehensive appearance ; the hair was of the same hue, hang- 
ing in curls of luxuriant profusion. If she was out in her native 
wildwood, they were playthings for the wind, tossed carelessly 
back from the high round brow, where intelligence had set her 
seal, and intuitive power looked forth. As it was, she had them 
caught up and fastened with a golden arrow; here and there a 
stray ringlet escaped, impatient of binding. 

“Look there, Erme! who can that be? Did you ever see any 
one of our sex so handsome?” 

“I think I have, Eosa; for you, my rosebud, are beautiful. 
She is lovely, but you I prefer.” 

“Oh, fie, Erme! you are only a flatterer. Why, I am still an 
untamed colt, while she — did you ever see such grace?” 

“I have surely seen her before,” murmured Erme. “Oh, yes! 
I remember, when a little girl, mamma took me to a child’s enter- 
tainment, and our mammas, having a slight acquaintance, intro- 
duced us. I remember I asked mamma if she thought I ever 
could look so nice, and she said she guessed not, for I had a 
turned up nose.” 

Erme laughed a low plaintive laugh, which spoke more than 
words can tell, of long-banished thoughts of beauty. 

“Well, Erme, you are lovely to me, anyway. There, I love 
you ever so much , ” and the warm-hearted girl emphasized her 
meaning by a long embrace. “We will go in, now, to your mam- 
ma, and perhaps she will find a way to get us soon acquainted, 
for I am longing to get a hug of her,” Rosa said gaily, as, pass- 
ing her arm around Erme in a protecting manner, she walked 
like a queen to the entrance. 

“Ye Gods! what a godsend,” exclaimed Sidney Worth. “Say, 
Albert, I did not come here for nothing after all. I expected to 
dance attendance upon you alone, but, by J upiter, the lovliest 


1& 

girl I ever saw has just gone in.” 

“Well, Sid, attend to your particular star; so you keep out of 
my way, is all I ask.” 

Then the two friends strolled off for a promenade. 



CHAPTER YIII. 

Taking their way along the beach, they each walked in silence 
for some time, until, at last, Sidney said, “Well, I believe my 
fate has come at last. There is something about that beautiful 
girl that I cannot shake off ; it seems as if her presence was here 
beside me, and as if a voice says, ‘She is thine.’ ” 

“I wish I could feel such a surety,” says Albert; “but the 
deuce of it is, Elsie’s old curmudgeon of a father, will scarcely 
speak tome; why, I cannot tell.” 

“Perhaps he has heard that you are not immaculate,” 

“Why should I be; there are thousands no better than I, who 
sow their wild oats, and then — ahl well, settle down to humdrum 
life, I suppose, as old father Ainslie has done. But I will have her 
in spite of him, or — •” and there was a grim determination in Al- 
bert’s hazel eyes, which dilated and grew darker with the thoughts 
within. 

“See here, Albert, no sinister calculations about Elsie. I feel 
in my soul you won’t get her by fair means, and warn you not to 
try foul.” 

“So you have turned saint, Sid? Well, I looked for this, when 
you seemed to feel so bad over that little escapade of mine, down 
in New Orleans.” 

That “little escapade” was nothing less than the ruin of bright 
Dora Clare, a beautiful creole girl, who, with her wealth of young 
heart-treasure, had been betrayed, by fair promises, and who, to 
hide her shame and end her misery, had found a suicide’s grave. 
There were wild flowers blooming over the young creole’s grave. 
Sidney Worth had plucked one, as a memento of a deed he ab- 


17 


horred, although committed by his bosom friend. That little 
flower seemed to come before his sight, and with it the recollec- 
tion of gay, dancing Dora, whose step was so light and airy ; while 
the silvery laugh seemed now to echo in his ear, until at last, the 
grave on Southern shores seemed at his very feet, with its occu- 
pant rising at his side. 

“Mercy! I believe I am clairvoyant.” 

“What’s the matter now?” said Albert, petulantly. 

“Well, to tell the truth, Albert, I see Dora as plain as day, here 
at our side, and I believe she comes as a warning against any 
more such deeds.” 

Albert scowled haughtily. 

“What subterfuge is this, Sid? Dismiss all such simple fool- 
ishness. The dead never come to life, nor tell any tales, either,” 
he said, with a low chuckling laugh. 

“Well, God defend me from having such a conscience as yours, 
Albert ; for I have nothing to fear in that direction. I guess my 
sins are more of omission than commission.” 

“For my part, I have no fear of any of your spooks; so 
let us be good brothers, Sid, and let this thing pass. I never want 
to hear of Dora Clare again, The little she-devil gave me trouble 
enough, before I got away. And father Leslie came the nearest 
to cutting off my allowance, that time, he ever did. He said I 
had better go into business, in a way to keep me out of mischief. 
Ha ! ha ! that was a rich joke for an only son. Fudge ! I know 
how much stock to take in his excommunications. His ‘bulls’ 
are always below par.” 

Sidney was silent. There had been a quiet monitor at his side ; 
in Dora’s place there seemed to raise a mother’s warning hand. It 
pointed upward then downward, and these words were breathed 
into his soul. “The earth is thy resting place at last; seeest thou, 
then, that heaven is gained by strict purity. Live a pure, true 
life; and Kosa shall be thine by thus doing.” 

“Well,” he thought; “I shall say no more of this, but I do be- 


18 

lieve that spirits can commune, and that my mother seeks my 

good.” % 

They passed on, but at length halted beneath a large cluster of 
trees, where they seated themselves, each busy with his respect- 
ive thoughts. The quiet was broken by the voices of two gentle- 
men, one saying, in a sad tone, “So they say the ‘La Salle’ is lost, 
with all on board.” 

“I knew Mr. Arnold well; a better man never lived, nor one 
more devoted to the cause.” 

“What a sad ending, to die when there was so much to gain for 
him here, in saving souls.” 

The voices passed on. As Albert heard these words he sprang 
to his feet in great excitement, pacing hurriedly up and down. 
“Gone! all evidence is gone,” he hissed through his teeth, with 
deep emphasis; “well, I am a lucky dog! so the gentle Mira may 
look long before she will find evidence to substantiate our mar- 
riage. It was a foolhardy venture to be sure, but now the way is 
clear, and, Mabelle Elsie, you are mine.” 

Sidney looked on in mute surprise. There was something repre- 
hensible in Albert’s aspect: an expression where strong passion 
held sway, and which his cooler blood could not explain. 

“Some other devilment, I’ll be bound,” he thought to himself; 
“and something I don’t know of. Why could those words affect 
him so? Ah, I have it ! some adventure while gone on that Cats- 
kill excursion, which took him all the summer and fall, while I 
was held prisoner with the fever. Well, 1 shall watch him, and 
try to hinder any more Dora scrapes.” 

Albert at length paused, and, silently motioning to his compan- 
ion, took up his walk to the hotel. He was extremely taciturn, 
and, beyond a mere monosylable, Sidney could get no answer to 
any inquiry. Arrived at their room, he threw himself upon a 
couch, and seemed lost in a maze of thought. 

“Well, Al., your meditations seem so profound, I guess I’ll seek 
companionship below;” and Sidney, with a slight shrug, depart- 
ed, hoping Kosa would be the bright star his eyes might encounter. 


CHAPTER IX. 

It was night time, and the lamps were lighted in a peaceful, 
quiet home, where one of Connecticut’s farmers rested after the 
toils of the day. His was a brawny arm, and stout heart, who sat 
rocking to and fro before the open window, where the playful 
breeze lifted the iron-gray hair, and touched gently the furrowed 
brow. By his side stood a gentle girl, whose quiet touches seamed 
to soothe the destracted state of mind the father was in. 

“I tell you, Mira, he is a villain!” said honest John Lee, bring- 
ing his clenched fist down with emphasis. “He has been gone 
this eight months, and no word. Business, pooh! I don’t believe 
it. ‘Gone to the South to prepare a home for his singing bird.’ 
That is all nonsense. He has gone there no more than I have, 
not a bit of it. But I will scour the earth till I find him, and 
hunt him to his grave — but what he shall come and claim you.” 

“There, father, do not talk so; you know I am his lawful wife, 
and whatever may be said, I am not sorry I took the step, for I 
love him.” 

“Yes, child, but look at the roses fading from your cheeks, and 
your bright eyes growing dim with so many tears ; it is more than 
your old father can stand. Mira, you were given to me by your 
blessed mother, to guard and protect, and by the Father above, I 
mean to do it. I did wrong, I fear, to listen to your gentle cooing, 
when you asked my permission to be his wife ; for I scented the 
villain in his blood, even if he did put on such airs of submission 
and extra edification, for our benefit. I fear my dove is forsaken ;’ ’ 
and the strong man broke down, even to tears. 

Clasping his daughter fondly, he seemed at last to forget his 


20 

wrath, in petting the pride of the ©Id homestead, where honey- 
suckle vines and roses interlaced their boughs, and sent forth their 
fragrance into the sorrow-stricken room. 

Mira, at last, gently disengaged herself from the kind clasp, 
and going up to her little room, threw herself upon a snowy bed — 
once a bride’s, now a forsaken wife’s. She felt all her father’s 
fears, and more ; for, was the little one living beneath her heart, 
ever to see a father? She sobbed wildly there in the quiet room, 
with none but pitying angels above, and a grieving father below, 
to bear sympathy. 

“Oh, Albert, how shall I live without you,” she murmured;, 
“life will be so dark, and I shall wish the grave to close over me. 
Eight months gone, and he said it would be but three until he-, 
would come to take me to a beautiful home. Oh, why did I listen 
to the serpent — for I feel that he is lost to me, gone never to re- 
turn ; perhaps glad to be rid of me, as he thinks. But no, he shall 
not ! I, too, will hunt him till I find him, and, with my child, claim 
his attention for its sake. I must, and will!” 

She had sprung to her feet and was walking back and forth with 
quick, nervous tread. The tears were dashed aside, the small 
hands were clenched, while the fair hair was pressed back from 
the aching brow. 

“A thing for passing pleasure,” she scornfully exclaimed; “I 
will show him what Puritan blood is; it shall not be trampled 
upon l” 

At last quiet was restored, and, like a weary child, she sank 
down by the open window to gaze on nature, so serene, while 
she, one of her children, was oppressed with such a heart 
burden. 


CHAPTER X. 

A few months prior to the scene in our last chapter, a gay party 
wended their way up the mountain side of old Catskill. The 
merry laughter, the bright smiles and gay repartee kept weari- 
ness away, as they toiled up, seeking the flowers in some shady 
nook, or gathering mosses from the rocks; anon stopping to rest 
and mingle together as a party of pleasure seekers. But Albert 
Leslie and sweet Mira Lee were among the laggards. 

“Mira, do you love me?” were the words Albert said, as, emerg- 
ing from a craggy cliff, they came into view. A low spoken “yes, 
with all my heart;” and ’twas then the blossom of the valley was 
won. There seems to be nothing to be repudiated, in the chival- 
rous bearing of the applicant. Allis fair outside. Ah! blind, 
indeed, is too often the outward perception. 

The shy eyes are raised to his so trustingly, and the rose color 
comes and goes on the soft cheek. Why it was, dashing Albert 
preferred the delicate, quiet beauty of Mira, to hosts of others, 
more pretentious, none could explain ; but such seemed the case, 
and all set it down to the spiritual lovliness of soul which looked 
forth from the large, luminous eyes, blue as the arching sky, and 
soft in their dove-like serenity. 

As they mingled with the rest, a triumphant look shone in Al- 
bert’s eyes, but it was set down to his success in winning the lily 
of the vale; for all loved Mira for her gentle, amiable manners, 
and quiet dignity. Albert felt this in her, and could go so far, 
and no farther. There was an unspoken regality in that quiet face, 
so calm and sweet. Although the petted, loved child of a doting 
father, who had done his best to spoil his motherless one, still 


/ 


22 * 


she was the same even., open, warm-hearted girt, whom to> know 
was to love. 

What demon could have possessed him to poison, with his tran- 
sient passion, this singing bird 2 — for Mira had but one accom- 
plishment, in which she was perfect, and that was the sweet voice, 
nature had given her. Her warbling might well vie with some 
favored prima-donna for its richness, and varied tones. Was it 
this which won Albert? For he sits as one entranced, while, 
from her happy heart she pours forth the rich libation from the 
soul. Ab, she must be happy when she sings like that. 

Mira joined the party with a maiden aunt, her father’s sister* 
who was as a mother to her. Aunt Susan’s portly dimensions 
kept her behind, so that Mira, ever thoughtful, insisted on going 
below to join her, with others, who were waiting. 

“Don’t hasten, Mira darling,” were the whispered words of Al- 
bert; “auntie will be all right, and I want a few words more. 

So, as each one passed on, they were left to themselves. 

“What is it, Albert, that you wish?” 

He hesitated, before he began. At last he said: “Mira, my 
home, as you know, is in the far South; and a bright sunny home 
jt is. But I have rich, aristocratic connections, wdio might not 
wish to know of my alliance in the North. Prejudice of party* 
you know, makes some difference. Now, I must claim you as my 
own, before I go to make peace, so when the thing is done they 
will be all right. But if I left you, as you are, they might so in- 
terpose that I could not return ; therefore it is best for us to be 
married in private, and await the unfoldment of circumstances, 
to bring reconciliation with my friends. Do you acquiesce in my 
decision?” 

“I scarcely know what is best,” Mira says: “but will ask fath- 
er. You know he w ill have to be spoken to. You will return 
with me, will you not, and together we will seek his blessing.” 

Albert bit his lip, to keep back words he knew Mira Lee w T ould 
never listen to. 


23 

“Well, I will of course comply with your desire, but, I ask as a 
favor, that our marriage be strictly private.” 

“Of course, if you wish, but it will be hard to win father and 
auntie to dispense with a wedding.” 



CHAPTER XI. 

It was autumn, when the rich leaves covered the earth, and 
flashed their bright hues from the tree-tops, gilding the far off 
mountains with a glow of glory, which looked so full of beauty 
in the sunny haze* 

Mira looked sweetly dependent, as she entered the minister’s 
parlor, leaning on the arm of Albert. The soft fleecy robe of mus- 
lin flowed away from the slight form, looking for all the world 
like an angel, as good Mehitable had said, who prided herself that 
there was no girl to be found that would compare with her Mira. 
She had been in the employ of farmer Lee since Mira’s cooing 
voice in infantile prattle came to cheer the old mansion. 

“Well, I never seen the likes!” she exclaimed. “To think, no 
weddin’, nor fixin’s, nor nothin’. I declare, I don’t see what 
they be thinkin’ of. I believe its a devil’s catch, I do;” and Het- 
ty flirted herself around in infinite disgust at the whole proceed- 
ing. “Xever did like him ; told them so, long ago, but he has 
managed to pull the wool over their eyes, somehow; but he don’t 
come it over me, nohow, although he did give me a five dollar 
bill.” And, pulling from her well-worn purse the bill named, be- 
gan to inspect it minutely. “Shouldn’t wonder if it wasn’t gen- 
uine. Pooh! thought to buy me up; well, he can’t, that’s sure, 
for I see his hoof as plain as that,” and she pointed to a two-year 
old heifer quietly grazing. 

So we shall leave her puffing vigorously at her clay pipe, in or- 
der to “let off steam,” as she expressed it. 

“Mira, my own!” a soft voice said, as the minister invoked his 
blessing upon them. ' 


24 

The eyes raised to liis were full of trust and confidence. Aunt 
Susan felt that Mira had accomplished the great aim that she had 
hoped for her, viz., a “big catch;” while farmer Lee only thought 
of the daughter he would lose, and the lonely life before him, 
when she should be withdrawn. 

Two months of unalloyed pleasure passed swiftly — all too swift- 
ly for Mira. It was then Albert announced his intention of go- 
ing South, to fit, as he said, “a home for his robin.” Mira parted 
with him with many regrets, and as she thought, uncalled for 
repinings. 

“Farewell,” he said, briefly. “I will return soon, and when 
the birds begin to sing, we will have all ready in our home.” 

Alas ! eight months gone by, and no word, no line to tell of 
the truant husband. She could not feel that he had gone to the 
spirit land, but, felt intuitively that he was still in earth life, and 
that she was a deserted wife. 




CHAPTER XII. 

We will now return to Naliant. Listen to the enchanting mu- 
sic, and swift-gliding feet of the dancers, stealing out in the night 
hours. Off to the right of the ballroom is a conservatory, where 
the many fragrant blossoms give forth their perfume upon the 
night air. W alking arm in arm, among its bowers of beauty, are 
many lovers who steal away from the gay throng, to whisper 
heart-treasures. Standing by the branches of an orange tree, were 
two who seemed so engrossed with each other that they heeded 
nothing around them. 

“Rosa, let me make you a wreath;” her friend said, as he 
plucked the delicate blossoms. Then breaking off a spray of 
myrtle, he deftly twined them in among the green leaves. 

“There, let me see how it looks;” and Sidney threw it laugh- 
ingly on the blushing girl’s head. “I think orange blossoms 
strangely becoming to you. What say you, Rosa, will you wear 


25 

them for me, and let me stand beside you, claiming you as my 
own?” 

He bent his head eagerly, with expectant meaning, to catch the 
half breathed sigh, and wistful look of yearning. 

“Sidney, I am but a dependent; at least I feel that I am: al- 
though uncle claims me as a daughter. I am an almost untutored 
child of nature, brought up in a quiet country home. Don’t you 
fear to take such a reprehensible person? Why, I would shame 
some of your aristocratic friends by some of ifty wild outbursts, 
forgetting where I was ; for I so long for my native woods, the 
wild flowers, the winding brook, all that I loved so well before I 
was left an orphan, that it seems, sometimes, as if I would stifle 
here, amongst so much of grandeur, pomp, and pride. It is true 
that I love Erme, she is so dependent on me, but uncle and aunt 
seem so far away ; so engrossed with what appertains to keeping 
up an establishment, that they have no sympathy for poor me.” 

She had poured forth her soul-longing, and, with tear-dimmed 
eyes, looked up to Sidney. He snatched her hastily to his heart. 

“Believe me, Rosa, the first time I saw you, I felt that we were 
destined for each other, and it is I who will lead you out of sorrow 
into light. Will you trust me, and love me?” 

“I will, Sidney, for you are the first who has ever awakened my 
heart ; and I feel like making every effort now to meet your 
approbation.” 

“You have always met it, Rosa. I love nature best, and she 
has taught you kindly. Don’t, for pity sakes, begin to ape those 
fashionable dunces, but be your own self ; in that character I 
love you best.” 

As the two emerged from their screen, they met, face to face, a 
tall figure with meager proportions, who looked at Rosa with a 
curious expression. She involuntarily clutched Sidney’s arm and 
whispered, when beyond hearing, “There’s uncle; he has arrived, 
and lam sure he heard our conversation.” 

“He can have no objection, if he has; for I shall speak to him 


26 

to-morrow, and my name is unblemished. Give yourself no fur- 
ther thought of fear, I will make it all right.” 

Rosa was too happy to contradict him, so they glided away in 
the dizzy waltz, glad of each other’s companionship. 

“May I not claim you for this mazourke?” said a soft, flexible 
voice at Elsie’s side. “Come, Mr. Ainslie, please give your con- 
sent for once to let Miss Elsie join us.” 

Her father hesitated, but felt that to be polite he could scarcely 
refuse; and Elsie’s eager eyes were dancing attendance at every 
step the dancers took, so, quietly acquiescing, Elsie took Albert’s 
arm and was soonlost in the giddy maze. 

“How do you like him, Ainslie?” said a tall figure at his side. 

“Well, to tell the truth, I have an undefined fear of him. And 
yet, I know of no actual need why I should feel so.” 

“Yes, some say he is a little wild; but then he is of the first 
families. Connections unexceptionable, etc. Couldn’t do a bet- 
ter thing for your daughter. If my Erme was not unmarrigeable, 
I would encourage such a match. However I have put my niece 
in her place, and expect her to bring me a son worth his million.” 

I look at something else beside money;’’ said Ainslie coldly. 
“My daughter’s happiness is my sole care.” 

“Well, you will not find a better, and, in treacherous times, 
money is a consideration.” 


» ♦♦» ♦ 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Elsie thought she never was so happy. To the rich melodious 
music, filling the air, her buoyant feet kept fairy time, while to 
make it more complete, Albert whispered soft flattery in her will- 
ing ears. 

“There, Elsie, come darling, you will be tired to death ;” said 
her father, receiving the unwilling girl from Albert’s charge. 

“Mr. Ainslie, I hope you will not keep Miss Elsie to herself 
any more ; for we need such a superb addition to our set. And I 


27 

can assure you she vies well with the most accomplished dancers 
in the room.” 

Mr. Ainslie thought altogether too well, as he found Mabelle 
Elsie very intractible about leaving the bewitching scene. 

“Come, Elsie, ‘early to bed, early to rise,’ must be obeyed abroad, 
as well as at home. You know our drive must be had to-morrow 
morning, so you must retire. Sea air is better than ballroom 
exercise.” 

“Yes, father, you are right; I will be a good Elsie,” she play- 
fully added, and, skipping lightly by his side, she left the gay 
scene below. 

Her father pondered long alone. Why it was, he could not tell ; 
but an undefined dread took possession of him. Elsie had been 
so petted he could not resist her pleadings ; so here he was, as a 
chaperon to the child-woman, whom he felt no more able to guard 
than a fly from a spider. 

“She winds me round her finger sure enough; just as she says. 
My pet, my darling, how can I deny you anything, when you are 
myall? Oh! Amy, how I wish you were by my side. Not in 
the cold sense the world claims, but as my companion, my guide. 
I somehow fear for Elsie’s future. But how foolish of me!” he 
exclaimed, as, arising, he walked hurriedly up and down the 
broad veranda. 

“Have you fortune told, sir?” said a dusky figure, standing by 
a colonnade; and, coming forward into the light, the gypsy girl 
revealed a pair of deep brown eyes, wherein looked a world of 
prophesy. 

“T don’t believe in such things, but perhaps you need money. 
There, take this;” and he placed a coin in her hands. 

“I will tell you, nevertheless,” she said. “Signor, the ‘Tea- 
Rose’ is in danger. Mark well what I tell you. Six years will 
find your home a ruin.” 

“Great God, woman! what do you mean?” 

But the figure was gone, and out on the midnight air there 
stole a soft Italian voice, singing a sad refrain : 


28 


“She is Bust, she is lost 
To the friends who have loved her. 

The ‘Tea-Rose’ has gone to heaven to dwell’; 

While the one who betrayed the trust of a lover, 

Will wander the earth, an object for Hell.” 

As the strains were lost in the distance, Mr. Ainslie’s breath 
eame and went in agony. 

“God of mercy L what if her words should prove true? But I 
will not be so foolish. It is nothing but a money-making scheme 
and, wiping the perspiration from his brow, he hastily ascended 
to his room, striving in vain to banish the gypsy’s prophesy. But 
the faint glimmer of morning found him in a restless slumber.. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“Quick, Elsie, comet” said a voice at her chamber door; t4 your 
father is very ill.” And Lita hurriedly helped Elsie to dress, who 
impatient of any restraint, hastened to her father’s room; but ho 
was wandering in wild delirium. It was now home, then the ball- 
room, again incoherent murmurings of the gypsy prophesy. 

“Oh! dear, what shall I do? I must send for mamma. Poor, 
dear papa;” and gentle hands ministered to the disordered 
brain. 

The doctor said it was brain fever, and that a heavy cold and 
quickly-checked respiration produced it. 

“Come, my dear,” said the old doctor: kindly ; “don’t fret so, 
and I will have him all right as soon as possible ; but quiet is abso- 
lutely necessary.” 

Elsie obeyed, and, leaving the room, encountered Albert, who 
said that he would attend to her father’s needs, and nurse him 
out of danger. 

So it was, that at a father’s sick bed, Albert gained a hold never 
to be loosened while life lasted. 


29 

The sick man tossed to and fro, in wild delirium. The sooth- 
ing hands of wife or child did not mitigate his agony, but Albert’s 
touch seemed to calm and soothe. He had a strong healing mag- 
netism, and thus it w r as that he became a very necessity in this 
hour of need. Six weeks a prisoner, at last brought Mr. Ainslie 
relief, and he began to mend rapidly. The danger passed, all 
rejoiced, with a different joy. With Elsie it was dear old papa 
out again. With the wife, a better and nearer feeling, as if one 
she had not before so fully estimated, had, at death’s brink, been 
restored to her. And Amy was truly thankful; more thankful 
than the husband knew, although he felt a something different in 
the kind tones which had a new ring of sympathetic affection. 

With Albert it was a feeling of triumph. He now possessed a 
hold on Mr. Ainslie not to be put aside; it was the hold of indebt- 
edness. He knew the noble man would feel it so, for Elsie and 
Amy kept singing his praise as one who had devoted himself in 
every attention he could bestow. So it was that many an hour 
Elsie was wooed by the pain-ridden couch of the father, until she 
came to look upon him as the noblest being of earth. Her heart 
was completely won, and Albert was sure of his prize. 

Amy saw the growing attachment, but could see no way to in- 
terfere as long as sickness lasted. But when convalescence came, 
she spoke to her daughter, saying : 

“Be sure of your heart, my daughter; don’t give it away too 
hastily. Remember your youth and inexperience ; you have as 
yet seen nothing, comparatively, of society.” 

“I know nothing, mamma, only that he is my true ideal. See 
how good he was, to do by father as he has. If for nothing else, 
I could love him for that.” 

Amy sighed, for she felt the deep hold that he had obtained 
upon her child ; but she soon put aside her fears, as the newly 
awakened affection for her husband made her own pulse beat 
quicker with a new life. 

“Oh, how glad I am,” she murmured; “it was only when I 
thought that there was danger of losing him, that I was shown 
this great joy.” 


30 

And the hazel eyes beamed with a new light; the divine light 
of love. 

Rising hastily she stole to where her husband lay, in a light 
slumber. He looked so wan and weary, as if tired of life’s long 
struggle with unrequited affections. The tears rained down her 
cheeks, as, watching there, her heart went out in a silent embrace 
to the newly loved one. 

What, Amy ! tears, and for me?” said Mark, wonderingly, as 
he opened his eyes on the tear-stained face. 

“Yes, Mark; but tears of joy, as well as sorrow.” 

And, burying her face beside his, she told him of all the change. 

“My Uod, I thank thee,” he said, with joy illuminating every 
feature. “Now, indeed, our life will be one scene of happiness. 
Rut where is Elsie, Amy?” 

“I will call her, said her mother. 

But Elsie was not to be found close at hand. She went to the 
window, and, looking forth, espied her with Albert, walking on 
the lawn. The bright upturned face, and earnest bearing, told 
all the heart within. 

“Mark, with our gain, I fear we make a loss. See, husband, 
did you ever see Elsie look so lovely?” 

“She is, indeed, pure and sweet. But there is a terrible fear 
here,” placing his hand on his heart. 

“Oh, I remember, the gypsy’s prophesy. Why, husband, you 
don’t believe in such absurd things?” 

“No; I thought I did not. But,” — And he named over the sad 
refrain that he had caught on the night breeze. “What did she 
mean by that? And where could she get it?” 

“Well, husband, I think she did it to work upon your feelings. 
I don’t believe a word of it. I believe Albert to be a good man, 
else how could he have done so much for you.” 

“I feel in his debt, I am sure, but wish I did not;” said Mark. 
“However, 1 will try to dismiss these fancies, and enjoy our new 
life,” kissing, as he said this, the willing lips upturned to his. 


CHAPTER XV. 

It was Sabbath day in Brooklyn. The morning shone bright 
and clear; a holy calm pervaded the quiet atmosphere. Hark! 
upon the air comes the quick, clear ringing voice of old Trinity, 
Then other bells take up the chorus, and soon all Brooklyn is 
astir, with many feet, wending their different ways to devotion. 
We will follow two figures — Albert Leslie and Sidney Worth, 
who arrived the evening before, and concluded they would attend 
divine service in the morning. To one of Brooklyn’s most popu- 
lar churches they found their way. We will listen as they 
walk along. 

‘‘I tell you, Al., Naliant has done for me.’ 

“Ah ! so bright-eyed Rosa claims you? well, you have made a 
good hit, for that uncle of hers is worth his million, and I hear 
that Rosa is adopted as his daughter; so it will be a good thing for 
you, Sid, for you cannot live on ten thousand always, although 
you are of one of the first families.” 

“1 am not thinking of her money,” said Sidney, hotly, the 
blood mounting to his cheek at the thought of being a fortune 
hunter. 

“Well, don’t take it so hard. I mean, of course, that it is a 
good thing to get a dip into the old fellow’s money bags. Rosa, 
no doubt, is a jewel of herself ; but I should think she had the 
devil of a temper, by her flashing eyes.” 

“Yes, she has spirit, and I like her all the better for it. None 
of your namby-pamby girls for me, who never have a mind of 
their own, and are so many fashion plates put together.” 

“Tut! tut! you are hard on the sex. Why, they are all only 


dear little innocents, made for our especial admiration, and' got- 
ten up expressly for our entertainment.” 

“Shame! Al., to speak so. My mother was a woman, and, if 
alone for her sake, I will always speak and feel for the nobility of 
the sex. I mean women, who are left to become women, and not 
dragged out into society before they are old enough, to leave their 
mother’s apron-strings, and then taught that their highest creed, 
is to catch a husband worth a million.” 

“Well, Sid, as you are not afflicted with the fiftby lucre to a 
great extent, I guess you will not be run after much, but will be 
left to enjoy Rosa and her million.” 

Sidney was quiet; he knew Albert’s love of trifling. At last he 
said, “Well, how do you prosper with the fair Elsie? I know you 
have had every advantage at her father’s bedside.” 

“Yes; it was a God-sent luck that the old gentleman was taken 
down when he was, for I was afraid that I would never get into 
his good graces. As it is I now have a hold upon him which I 
guess will be a sticking-plaster he cannot get off readily. Now 
that I have helped him through the tussle for life or death, I 
think he will hardly debar me from home. Once access there,. 
Elsie is mine.” 

“Do you love her Albert?” said Sidney, questioningly. 

“Certainly I do, you goose. Who could help it, I wonder? 
She has awakened all there is of the article in me, and no fiend 
from hell, or angel from heaven, shall take her from me!” Deep 
passion gleamed in the young man’s face, and Sidney shuddered 
as he saw its impress, hoping fervently for Elsie’s welfare* 


CHAPTER XYI. 

“Here we are, Sid, at one of Brooklyn’s most famed churches. 
We will now hear some gospel, and see some beauty.” 

Up the long aisle they passed, and were seated by the obsequi- 
ous usher. In silence they sat, awaiting the coming of one whose 
voice was a power in the land. The stillness was awakened by 
the deep tones of the organ. It was then the minister stood within 
his desk and announced his text, “Come unto me, all ye that 
labor, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” With deep 
pathos, and in fitly spoken words, he poured forth his eloquence. 
At last all was hushed again, the hymn went upward, the bene- 
diction was pronounced, and the people wended their way home- 
ward. 

“Well, I call that a big sermon,” said Albert; “but, to tell the 
truth, I don’t believe the old gentleman has sown all his wild oats 
yet, himself. It does pretty well to stand and denounce those 
who do not come just at his call. But when it comes to big ‘I,’ 
the shoe don’t fit, no more than with some other sinners — such as 
I, for instance. ‘Coming unto me,’ he says, ‘is to live an up- 
right, moral life, and thereby follow the example Christ has laid 
down for us.’ I venture to assert that he follows it just as near 
as his own moral organization lets him, and no more. I tell you, 
Sid, I have been in places myself (where, to be sure, I should 
blush to go;) but I cannot blush for myself as much as for some 
hypocritical church members I saw there, and who made prayers 
as long as Trinity steeple.” 

“Oh, Albert, do hush. I know human nature is the same every- 
where— either in pulpit or press, or among the people. Still, I 


34 

Rave- a great regard for truth. If it was given through a devil, in 
angel guise, it would nevertheless be a truth, if it was what 
eould stand as a basis of action.” 

“Well, we will not argue the question; to ray mind these teach- 
ers should be always performers. When it comes to a saintship, 
I make no profession for myself; but I like consistency in all 
tilings. Now there’s old Father Gammon, a staunch Episcopal 
minister, to all appearance, but to my mind one of your devils-in 
“angel guise.” Why, I knew of a poor sewing woman who was 
in the employ of his family, for several months at a time ; and 
when she asked for her wages, the old hypocrite told her she 
would have to wait awhile longer, as he had no money at present 
to give her; and, on looking over her bill, he pointed with his del- 
icate fingers to several items that he thought too exorbitant, as lie 
called it. Now it happened that I knew all about it, for she came 
to my mother and told her all the circumstances. I was lying on 
the sofa in the adjoining room. She wept and said she was almost 
out of bread, had three little children, etc. ; that she had thought 
as he was a minister, he would be prompt in payment. Well, 
mother gave her some money, and work. I jumped up, after she 
was gone, and told mother that I thought such lying hypocrites 
ought to go to a Hell ten thousand times hotter than any that 
they had invented for other sinners. For I know, for a fact, of 
his receiving a good lump of his salary just the day before ; and 
heard him say to a friend, now he could get some necessary 
things — a new brussels carpet for one thing. I declare, I was mad 
for sure; for, Sid, you know that I pay my debts, if I ain’t 
straight in other ways.” 

Sidney sighed. “Yes, it is a sad case of unfaithfulness to divine 
teachings; but there are many exceptions.” 

“Oh, yes! I know an old minister, way up in Maine, who is a 
regular saint, and does all he can for the poor; in fact, deprives 
himself of necessary things to serve the Lord. Goes on another 
extreme, you see. The fact is, to me, they always seem on some 
extreme; either away behind in the dark ages, or else away out, 


35 

no one knows where, in some transcendental realm that no one 
will ever find. Now I respect the ministers, as a class, but for 
the life of me I cannot see why so much money has to be spent on 
this gospel and grand churches. For my part, I think that the 
money better be put into good concert halls, or theaters; then 
have big ‘benefit’ nights to help the poor. If their inspired 
ideas came from God, they do not need so much study and 
preparation, so they can work like other men part of the time.” 

“Well, Albert, I do not see exactly as you do, and yet there is 
certainly room for improvement in our clergy and religion. Now, 
I have been thinking lately about these things, and it seems to me 
there is a remodeling needed somewhere. I cannot exactly grasp 
it, but I think each one needs to get closer to God, individually ; 
for, if we are all his children, it seems to me that the soul, can 
learn for itself, without so many go-betweens. And, as you say, 
there surely is too much spent on costly edifices, which are for 
nothing but show. I believe I am getting to be a real Liberalist, 
for I see so many shams in the old track, that my soul cries halt! 
and I am in a state of indecision. ” 

“Well, here we are at our hotel. I guess we will adjourn the 
question, Sid, and take it up another time.” 

■ 

CHAPTER XVII. 

It is a sick bed scene in farmer Lee’s house. All night the 
watchers have stood about the bed of Mira, who lay tossing in 
fever, but the semblance of her former self. The thin hands lay 
out upon the counterpane almost transparent in their whiteness, 
while the wan face and dishevelled hair told of many days and 
nights where agony was guest. She wanders in delirium ; now 
speaking of running brooks and flowers ; now of mossy rocks and 
wild ferns. She seems to live over again the days when she and 
Albert wandered over the Catskills. 


36 

“Do you think she will recover, doctor?” says anxious Aunt 
Susan, who holds in her lap a tiny form, but two weeks old; a 
little rose-leaf girl, as auntie calls her. 

“I am not certain, yet; there is a strong struggle in her life- 
forces, but I think that her youth will triumph, although, my dear 
madam, I fear that she will never regain her reason.” 

At this remark, the father arose. “If she does not, so help me 
God, I will take her and wander the earth over, until I find him, 
if it takes every cent I possess!” 

“Hush! brother; don’t talk so. Mira may yet be well and all 
right. I am sure it is a terrible thing, but then we must submit 
to the Divine chastening.” 

“Fudge! Susan; I don’t want to hear any such stuff. Don’t 
put on to God’s shoulders what belongs to man. This eternal 
palming off on to the Almighty, what belongs here, is the kind I 
can’t, I won’t hear.” 

“Well, I am sure I try to be resigned at least;” and, laying the 
babe in its cradle, Aunt Susan walked out with dignity. 

She found Hetty rocking to and fro, bewailing the sad fate of 
the household. “To think,” she said, “that that blessed lamb 
was made to suffer all this, just for that dirty scapegrace, who has 
made this home a complete ruin, for his own amusement. I told 
them so, I did;” she moaned; “but they would not hear to me, 
and now it has all come as I said.” 

“Well, Hetty, sitting there bemoaning, won’t get your work 
done. Come, we must bear our trials as best we can. Get me 
some milk fixed for the baby, then bring it to me.” 

“Yes’m I will; the little darlint, we will have her anyhow, if 
worse comes to worse ; and she looks for all the world like Mira 
did, when her poor mother laid her in my arms, and said, ‘There 
Hetty, take good care of baby.’ Oh, dear! its nothing but sad 
days this old house ever sees. The mistress may say its God’s 
providence, but I don’t see it in that light; I believe it more man’s 
improvidence, or imprudence, or impudence — I’m not settled 
which.” 


37 

Poor Hetty liad a question to answer, which puzzled other 
brains than hers. Still the sick girl murmured incoherently, and 
still those who loved her, watched the tiny thread which held the 
spark of life, with daily fear that it would snap and leave them to 
mourn their Mira. At last there was slow surety that life would 
renew her earth work. But as a normal action of the system 
began to assert itself, they saw, to their dismay, that her reason 
was dethroned. The once bright mind was now in darkness; a 
cloud had settled upon it, and nothing of the past was realized. 
She seemed only alive to her physical needs ; even the beautiful 
babe received no answering smile to the little cooing voice and 
engaging motions, for Mira’ s sun had set in clouded night, while 
he, she loved was acting a lover’ s part in the rich rooms where 
Elsie’s slight fingers were playing an airy song. Does the memo- 
ry of Mira enter his soul? For they are the same notes that she 
sung on their parting eve ; but the wildbird notes are beyond the 
power of Elsie to execute. The same twilight enfolded each ; the 
one a poor imbecile, the other with thoughts he would gladly 
flee from. 

“Come, Elsie darling, play something else; that ditty don’t 
suit my ears.” 

“It is one that I learned five years ago, when on a visit to 
Cousin Mira.” 

“Mira who?” and Albert’s face turned ghastly white. 

“Why, Cousin Mira, up in Connecticut. Father’s half-sister 
married uncle Lee, a farmer there. I was sent off to recruit up, 
as they called it; so I spent one summer there among the bossies 
and nice things. Oh ! I had a jolly time, riding the old gray 
horse, and tumbling around generally:” and Elsie’s light laugh 
was arrested by the deathly look on Albert’s face. “Oh, Albert! 
what is the matter? How fearful you look! I will run for mam- 
ma, for I believe you are going to faint.” 

Albert stiflled a groan. “Don’t, Elsie, I will be better soon; it 
is only a spell that lam subject to. There, it is gone, now;” 
and he tried to put on a semblance of himself, to hide his fearful 
emotion from Elsie’s earnest gaze. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

It was again a twilight scene in Mark Ainslie’s home. But 
now the autumn leaves are lying about, brown and sere ; the earth 
has robed itself in a garment of gray, and the biting frost has 
come, making fancy work upon the window pane. November’s 
chill winds go whistling around the mansion, but within, how 
bright. 

Grandma Ainslie sits knitting by the grate, heaped high with 
glowing anthracite ; she looks very cozy and contented, while 
Elsie sits on a stool at her feet, with one rounded arm pressing 
her knee. 

“Say, grandma, what do you think of marriage and me, joint 
heirs of happiness, you know?’’ This was said in a sly whisper, 
as she carefully kept turning the glittering diamond upon her 
finger. 

“See here, Elsie, wliat’s that — engaged? Ah! and but little 
over sixteen.” 

“Oh, well, grandma, I won’t marry yet awhile; I will take time 
as I tell Albert, to tame down and get demure: So.” and she 
puckered up her features into what she called a dignified 
appearance. 

“Why, Mark and Amy, what are you thinking of, to let this 
child marry so young?” 

“Oh, well, mother, she is not married yet; but I have yielded, 
at last, to Albert’s wishes to become engaged; but tell him he 
will have to wait at least three years.” 

“Better say five, for Mark, to tell the truth, I cannot like him ; 
and yet I cannot give any definite reason.” 


39 

“I have felt the same, mother, but as yet have found nothing 
to substantiate my strange dislike; and it even grows upon me, 
although, I am sure, as a guest here, he always conducts himself 
in an irreproachable manner.” 

“Well, to me, there always seems something back.” 

Elsie had arisen, and now stood by her mother. “Well, little 
mamma, you do not share their prejudice, do you?” 

“No; as yet, I have seen nothing to alarm me. But your father 
often has strange premonitions. I hope so much, for my dar- 
ling;” and, pressing her cheek to her own, she looked with 
loving pride on the pure face. 

“See, mamma! Our rings are almost alike, let us kiss them 
both. I know you are happy, and why shouldn’t mine bring me 
happiness?” 

“I hope so, daughter;” but her mind wandered back to the 
time when that ring was placed there, and then contrasting it 
with the present, her heart went up in silent thanksgiving. 

“Say, Amy, what is this mischief telling you?” said the hus- 
band and father, as, passing an arm around both, he felt all the 
joy of conjugal happiness, and all the pride of a father’s love. 

“I feel so happy,” said Amy, “I fear it will not last.” 

“Oh, yes it will, mamma; now don’t goto getting any blue 
streaks,” and Elsie laughingly went to the piano, striking, 
mechanically, the same notes which had affected Albert so much. 

“There, I have played that beautifully, I know! . Albert inter- 
rupted me last evening, by pretty nearly fainting, when I told him 
that cousin Mira taught it to me.” 

“Why, I declare, I must write to brother Lee; 1 have left it so 
long, I fear he will think that I have forgotten him.” 

“Do, Mark, and tell him to let Mira come and spend the win- 
ter; it Avill do Elsie good to have her here.” 

“I will ; and think your plan a good one.” 

Elsie sang on, gaily exuberant, until a well-known step sounded 
upon the walk. “There’s Albert; I will meet him in the hall;” 
and, suiting the action to the word, she ran out to meet him. 


40 ' 

“Elsie, when will you cease to be such a ehild?” her mother 
asked. 

“Why, mamma, when I get to be a woman. Perhaps cousin 
Mira can teach me what that is ; I remember that she had an air 
of dignity so becoming, but I fear that it will not fit poor me. 
Say, Albert, papa is going to write for cousin Mira to come and 
spend the winter. Won’ t that be nice? Then you will have two 
girls to beau around.’' 

Albert’ s face grew ashy pale, with fear. ‘ ‘My God !” he thought, 
“is everything going to conspire against me?” But his face was 
in the shadow, so he only said, “Ah I w r hen will she come?” 

“Oh! I don’t know, yet; papa is going to write and plead so 
hard for her to come and tame me, that 1 think she cannot resist 
the appeal very long.” 

“There, Elsie, don’t be such a madcap,” says grandma. “When 
I was of your age I acted with some decorum.” 

“Well, I will get the dictionary to-morrow, and see what that 
means ; and if it is not too very hard, will try ever so much to be 
like it.” 

“They all smiled at her playful humor, except Albert. He 
was too busy concocting some plan to get Elsie off before her 
cousin came, to think of aught else. 

“Well, if worse come to worst, she has no proof of our marriage 
anyhow ; the certificate is in my drawer, and old Arnold is in the 
deep, and neither one will tell any tales, I guess.” 



CHAPTER XIX. 

“Look! Erme, how pretty I have fixed you,” said Rosa, as she 
gave the finishing touch to Erme’s hair, plaited in long, broad 
plaits, and tied with blue ribbons. 

The thin, pale face lightened up with satisfaction, as she viewed 
in the mirror, Rosa’s handiwork. The dress of pure white was 
relieved by blue ribbons, and Erme gave a grateful kiss to cousin 
Rosa for all her care and painstaking. 


41 

“Now, Erme, I must look nice, too; for you know Sidney is to 
call upon us, to-day, and will seek an interview with uncle;” and 
the blushing girl hastily gathered up the truant tresses, brushing 
and arranging them into curls of beauty. 

“Rosa, I think that you are lovely,” says the admiring Erme; 
“I never saw anyone I thought half so pretty.” 

“Well, as you and Sidney are satisfied, I am. — But there goes 
the bell! Let me see who has come;” and Rosa, peeping from 
the window, saw Sidney standing upon the doorstep. 

“There, Erme, help me to dress. Our company has come!” 
and the two girls, with many a jest and gay laugh, hastened 
below. 

Sidney was met at the hall door by Mr. Alton, who conducted 
him to his library. He had thought to see Rosa, first; but, find- 
ing himself alone with Mr. Alton, he thought he would at once 
press his suit. So he proceeded to open his heart with all a lov- 
er’s earnestness, and hopefulness. 

Mr. Alton heard him calmly through, and then said: “Mr. 
Worth, I have other views for my niece, or rather, adopted daugh- 
ter. I presume you know this, as well as I do ; for the young 
men seem to be well posted upon this fact, and consequently so 
many admirers.” 

Sidney bit his lip at the implied insult. “I assure you, sir, 
although knowing such to be the case, that I never, for a moment 
thought of Rosa, except as for herself alone. If her inheritance 
were poverty, she would be the same to me.” 

“Oh! yes, that would be the answer that I would get anywhere. 
But, as I have stated, I have other views; the man who wins her 
must be worth his million, as well as I, for her husband stands to 
me as a son, the same as if my daughter could have married;” he 
said this in a cold, calculating manner, little caring for the heart 
treasure he was trampling upon. 

Sidney felt shocked; he had come so buoyant and hopeful, rely- 
ing upon his good name and upright intentions so fully, that this 
cold reception completely upset him. For a moment he could not 
answer ; then he said , 


■12 


“Am I to consider this your final conclusion?” 

“It is, sir, unless you have a million laid by.” 

“I have it in my brain and muscle,” Sidney thought, but calm- 
Iy bidding him good day, left his presence. He felt that he could 
not see Rosa then, but would call another time; so he walked to 
a park, to there think over what was best to do in this emergency.. 

“I have no million, nor am I likely to get one,” he soliloquized. 
Just then a tall, slight figure barred his progress, and a voice he 
remembered having once heard, said: “Have your fortune told* 
sir?” 




“I don’t know. I guess you may — that is if you can see any 
luck for me in the future.’ ’ 

“Fair sir ! 1 see in yonder blue, 

A star that's gleaming bright, for you ; 

’Twill beckon to another shore, 

And you will claim one you adore. 

I see a cloud cast in your sky, 

Which sendeth rain just by -and -by, 

But the star sails high above the cloud, — 

It will make for it, its winding shroud ; 

Then your life will hold far brighter gems 
Than all Golconda’s diadems. 

You will claim the maiden, sweet and fair, 

Nor all your castles be of air!” 

s her prophetic words died away, Sidney felt renewed hope; 
theVe came with them his mother’s presence, and he again heard* 
the words, “Rosa shall be thine!” “What is your name, girl?” 

“Nietta, the Italian prophetess,” she said proudly. “I came 
of noble blood, but dark misfortune drove me to your shore, and 
Nietta was left alone, to earn her bread. I have this gift of God, 
and I use it. Sometimes my warnings do good.” 

Well, Nietta, take that,” and Sidney handed her a bill of ten 
times the value she asked. 

“No, kind sir; Nietta don’t like to take what she has not 
earned.” 

“You must take it; I feel that you have done me good, so it is 
freely given.” 




43 


She hastily plunged into a thicket, and Sidney saw no more of 
the strangely endowed girl, who had once before crossed his path 
when he and Albert were in New Orleans. He well remembered 
her prophesy to Albert, and shuddered when he thought of its 
dark, portentous meaning. She said he would drink of the cup 
himself, which he held to other’s lips; that woe, woe, woe, was 
the wailing cry that she heard for him. 

“How he cursed her,” said Sidney, “and how proud she looked 
with her flashing eyes turned full upon him. I remember she 
said, — ‘I never forget a curse!’ and then was gone. Ah! well, l 
hope mine will come true. I must see Rosa, and then find some 
way to earn that million.” 


»•»*- 

CHAPTER XX. 

“Why, Ernie, what can have occurred? There goes Sidney 
without seeing me ; I am sure that is strange,” and disappointed 
Rosa burst into tears. 

“There, cousin, do not cry; here comes papa, and I will ask 
him why Mr. Worth did notstay.” 

“Well, Erme, to tell the truth, I gave him his walking papers. 
I guess, Rosa, I gave your million-hunting gallant a dose that he 
will not like to swallow. But I will treat every fellow of the. 
same order, to the same antidote, for their aspiration to your 
hand!” 

Rosa’s face flushed with anger and indignation. “I am sure 
Sidney Worth is above all such paltry thoughts. I know that he 
loves me, and that I do him, and that nothing but each other will 
ever satisfy either!” 

“Well, we will see, I guess against the time he earns his million 
all the starch will be out of his love!” 

Rosa, too angry to reply, left the room ; but Erme staid to plead 
with her father. 

“No, my dear; I have said no, and no it must be, unless Worth 


44 

can earn the money. I shall be obdurate,” and Erme felt that it 
was useless to say more. 

Poor Rosa ! all her air-castles were toppled over. She felt pow- 
erless to act, and hoped Sidney would send her some word soon. 
She felt equal to anything, and in her present state of mind, 
would have gone with him to the antipodes, without anyone’s 
consent. 

The next day Sidney called, and was admitted to see Rosa. 
He felt better, more hopeful and trustful of the future, and tried 
to imbue Rosa with the same feeling. “I am going away, Rosa 
darling,” he said; ‘ ‘going to California to carve out a fortune, 
and perhaps fame. I have been but a drone, to be sure. Perhaps 
your uncle is right ; I need to earn something that I can call my 
own before I claim this dear hand. At any rate you will be the 
incentive to spur me on.” 

“Well, Sidney, what am I to do, in your absence, it will seem 
an age before I see you again?” 

“Yes, dearest, I know; but then you have your duties here, and 
we can write often, so the time may pass more rapidly than you 
think. I shall begin the practice of law ; you know that I am 
fitted for that profession, but have never followed it. It is a 
shame on me to dawdle away the hours given me for improvement 
and advancement, but it is ‘Never too late to mend,’ so I will 
begin now, and some day, not far off, I will come to claim you. I 
‘fear that I will never earn a million, but your father will relent 
when once he sfees my determination, and knows that I am no 
fortune-hunter.” 

Rosa could do nothing but assent, and so the time glided by in 
delightful converse until Mr. Alton returned. Sidney then told 
him of his determination, and met but a cold encouragement. 

“I will give you a chance, to be sure; I know nothing against 
you, personally, so don’t fear to let you try your luck. But I 
don’t think that Rosa will stay an old maid as long as it will take 
you to earn your million; however, we shall see.” 

Sidney left, feeling it was, indeed, but a thread of fortune 


45 

which held them ; still, he knew that Rosa possessed a true nature, 
and felt that time and earnest endeavor might do the rest toward 
bringing them together. As he passed out, he pressed Rosa’s 
hand quietly, with more meaning than words could express. 

» ♦ • ♦ ♦ 

CHAPTER XXI. 

As he left the house, Nietta passed him. “The ‘Roseleaf’ shall 
know a friend,’’ she spoke in his ear. 

He turned, but the tall figure was off in in the crowd. Just 
then he espied Albert walking moodily along. He hastened his 
steps, and joined him. “Say, old fellow, what is the matter? 
You seem deep in a blue meditation; but yesterday I thought no 
one could have them like me, but I see that you are afflicted in 
like manner.” 

“Why, Sid, is that you? Come home with me; I want a good 
talk with you.” 

“Yes, it won’t be many old confabs we will have now, for I’m 
off to California in another week.” 

“What’s that for?” said Albert, who, to tell the truth, was 
secretly elated that Sidney would be absent just at this period. 

“Well, the old gentleman thought that I needed a stirring up 
before I could get Rosa, so I am going to earn my money to buy 
her with.” 

“Ah! that's it, is it? Well, good luck to you. I, too, am off 
for a trip. I shall go to New Orleans in about two weeks — or 
months, I don’t know which.” 

“What takes you there, a wedding trip?” 

“Oh! no; I’ve got to wait three years for that trip, so you see 
we may be married at the same time, for all we know.” 

“Yes, that’s so; don’t you think it a good idea? I hope it may 
be realized, Rosa is to me an angel ; and I know Elsie might be 
one for you, so we will both hope for the best.” Arriving at 
Albert’s room, the young men conversed on the various prospects 
before them, and then separated for the night, each to dream 
where different angels presided. One truthful and self reliant, 
the other p!ot;ing how to escape.the entanglement, sin had woven 

for him. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

It was a Sabbath eve, the stillness broken only by the chime of 
church bells, as they rang upon the frosty air. Mr. and Mrs. 
Ainslie concluded to attend service, and happily set forth, enjoying 
the glad, restful feeling of peace, which contentment gives. 

“There, Amy dear, wrap up warm,” he said, as he folded the 
shawl around the slight form he loved so well. 

It- was with light happy steps she kept pace at his side, remem- 
bering, as she did so, how, on many a former occasion, they had 
lagged listlessly along. The chimes of their church bell had 
ceased as they were about to ascend the steps, when the tall girl- 
ish form of Nietta appeared. 

“Stop, Signor, the stars pale for you to-night.” 

“Girl, what mean you?” he said, almost sternly. 

“I mean that the ‘Tea-Rose’ is in danger/’ 

“Fudge! I don’t believe a word of your foolishness. Come, let 
us pass ; don’t you see we are going to service?” 

And then she sang in low sweet measure; 

“The ‘Tea-Rose’ will die! Her voice will be low; 

And sad be the smile the future will brill?! 

o ! 

For a worm will destroy— the tempter is near; 

Go, wrest her from evil, or sorrow will bring 
Your gray hairs, with anguish, to lie in the grave, 

Far away in a land you know not of now; i 

While the mother will weep o’er memory’s chime, 

’Till sorrow will measure her grave, I allow; 
if Go, go, to the mountain, whose breast nears the cloud ; 

Go find you the kindred, now sojourning near, 


47 

Haste! haste thee, to find her, or else wear a shroud — 

I have told thee as prophet, itall will appear!” 

As the last word died away, Nietta was gone. Amy shuddered 
with fear. 

“Mark, what does she mean? I fear some impending evil.” 

“Oh! fie; guess it’s all a got up thing. The same girl gave me 
a similar warning when at Nahant; but as yet nothing has come 
of it. I have seen only happiness and as he said this they 
entered the church. But in spite of all they could do, that voice 
rang in their ears more than the eloquent words of Holy Writ. 

Both were silent, as they returned home. When seated by their 
glowing firelight, Mark said : “Well, Amy, has that ghostly fear 
left you yet, for I see you look abstracted?” 

“To tell the truth, it has not. What do you suppose she meant 
by the kindred near the mountain?” 

“I am sure I don’t know, unless it was brother Lee. I guess I 
will go and hunt him up, and tell him that a gypsy sent me; I 
think I hear his hearty guffaw at the joke.” 

Amy smiled, but still her awakened fears were not quieted. 

“I felt as you do, Amy, at Nahant; but since my return every 
thing is turning out so well, I begin to think she is trying to work 
upon my fancy.” 

Just then Elsie made her appearance, and the conversation 
took a general turn. “What do you think? I had quite a scare 
this evening,” said Elsie. “As grandma and I were keeping the 
stars company, a regular, bona fide gypsy came to the room, and 
asked to tell my fortune. She said that she wanted to save me. 
I told her if I was worth saving to hurry up the business, as I 
expected company. So here is her production;” and Elsie pro- 
duced, with a flourish, a white missive, and read with emphasis 
the following: 

“ ‘Tea-Rose,’ do you know whom you harbor? — 

A Snake-in-the-Grass is his name; 

I know of another rose, yonder, 


48 


Whose life is a wreck, by the same! 

I come to spare you the sorrow 
I see in yon sky over there, 

No trouble I’d ask you to borrow, 

You beautiful ‘Tea-Rose’ so fair; 

But, by a diviner commission, 

Than any yon guess, my sweet girl, 

I come a warning to give you — 

Escape from the snake, ere he hurl 
You all to a state of perdition, 

Of sorrow, and agony here! — 

So, now, I have filled my commission, 

And bid you good-bye, with a fear!” 

“There, you see, I have it down in black and white. I told Al- 
bert I intended to place it under my pillow, and dream over it 
before I dismissed him; as I guess she meant him by the Snake T 
in-the-Grass. I never saw him look so livid with anger as he did 
when he met her, as she passed out. I heard her say, ‘I never 
forget a curse and Albert told her that if she did not want a 
deeper curse, to be gone, and never show her face here 
again. It took me a long time to quiet him. I told him at last I 
was going to get father to go for Mira right off, for I believed he 
needed her equal temperament as well as I. ” 

Elsie was full of mischief, and, going to the piano, sang one of 
her gayest songs. 





CHAPTER XXIII. 

A few evenings after, Elsie said, “See here, Albert, I will go 
and get that snake paper if you don’t stop your moody ways. 
That is lively enough to stir us both up, ain’t it?” 

Albert looked darker than before. “I will give that gypsy girl 
something else to think of, one of these days, than going round 
with her lies, trying to create disturbances.” 

“Oh! well, you see, I am not at all disturbed. Why, I rather 
like the excitement — then, to be called a ‘Tea-Rose ;\vhy, I don’t 


49 

get that compliment every day,” and miscliief-loving Elsie kept 
shaking her fingers roguishly at Albert. 

“See here, Elsie, you don’t believe any such stuff, do you? 
What if some fearful tale were told of me, has my Elsie faith 
enough in me, to stand by me as a true friend?” 

“Yes ; more than any other. Albert, do you think me a coward, 
or a foolish girl, to be turned every way by any story?” 

“No, Elsie, I do not; but I sometimes fear that I will lose 
you.” 

“Well, bid good-by to your fears. I am new seventeen, and 
two more years will give you the right to get your ears boxed, at 
least three times a day — morning, noon, and night— as a kind of 
tonic, you know.” 

Albert sighed and smiled, as he said, “Did you hear that Sid- 
ney Worth had gone to California, there to make a fortune, so 
that he can marry Rosa?” 

“Oh! yes; she has told me of it. How sorry I am for them. 
But here, you see, we are blest with our million-dollared papas, 
so you don’t need to go on a long penance, to earn money to buy 
me with. That’s what Rosa says it amounts to, in the case. I 
love Rosa and Erme so well, and when Mira comes we will be a 
gay crowd.” 

Albert paled again, at the mention of Mira’s name. “My God,” 
he thought, “Why does she name her so often?” 

But thoughtless Elsie knew not the true cause of Albert’s 
starts at Mira’s name. 

At that moment Mr. Ainslie entered : he caught the last clause 
of Elsie’s sentence, and said, “Yes, sure enough, I must strive to 
get Mira here this winter. I will have some business up near 
there in another week, and you must write her, Elsie, that I am 
coming, and that she must be ready to accompany me back.” 

Mark Ainslie looked at Albert in a scrutinizing manner; he 
thought if the gypsy’s words meant anything, be would see some 
signs. But Albert was, to all appearance, busy turning over the 


.50 

leaves of a manual upon tlie table, and he failed to show a sign to 
the father’s anxious gaze. 

Albert at length took his leave ; but, scarcely in the street, he 
set his teeth together, and swore a deep curse on Nietta. 

“I will kill her,” he cried, “the first chance I get at her. She 
has awakened distrust against me in Mr. Ainslie’s mind; I know 
it by his look, although he hardly likes to acknowledge it. Well, 
it only shows that I must hasten my plans of departure!” and, 
waking with hurried steps, he reached home. 

All night he spent, tossing and planning an escape from the en- 
tangling web that destiny was preparing for him. 

“I have it, at last !” he exclaimed: “it will be a bold venture, 
but I will try it. At least it will give me Elsie for awhile.” 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

It was twilight in sunny Italy. The stars looked down on a 
sick couch, where the feeble, cough-attenuated form of Mr. Arnold 
was lying. He heeded not the beauty of the night, nor the fair 
city’s hum, as it rose and fell around him, for his thoughts were 
with his loved ones, out beyond mortal ken. 

“Oh! I long to be there;” he exclaimed; “to be done with this 
weary round of life, with all its feverish cares. I loved my 
flock ; but God sees best, and I hope he feels that my work is 
ended here, for I long to go home.” 

Thus Mr. Arnold mused in quiet communion with his soul, 
away in a strange land, alone among strangers, sick and deso- 
late — no wonder that he longed for home. 

A rap upon the door, and a servant brought a note. He broke 
it open, wondering who it could be from. 

“Ah! Jack Dare; brave Jack; he writes: ‘I want to see you; 
may I come?’ ” 

“To be sure he can. There, please hand me my portfolio,” 


51 

and, tracing a few lines, lie told him to post them. 

The next day found Jack at his bedside, grasping his hand with 
true sympathy. 

“Say, parson, as I am out of employment, I want to come and 
nurse you. What do you say to the bargain? I believe that 1 
can get you up and about again — at least I will do all I can for 
you.” 

“I shall be only too glad to have you. The sight of your face 
has done me good, already.” 

“Well, I will install myself right away, and though not such a 
tender, soft hand, as I might be, still, I guess my heart will be in 
your service.” 

And, as the days sped on, beautiful Florence looked lovely, 
with her blooming roses and climbing vines. 

Jack had been true to his word, and Mr. Arnold was much bet- 
ter ; he could sit in the easy chair, and look out upon the busy 
world beneath. It was a comfortable, cosy hotel, overlooking 
the river Arno, with all that could bring comfort. 

Jack daily felt a serene satisfaction, in knowing that Mr. Arnold 
was improving so rapidly, and boasted that he would have him in 
the street soon. 

“Well, Jack, you have done wonders for me; there, hand me 
Lilly’s picture, I must give you one. They are very dear to me, 
and, Jack, you are dear too, for I believe you have saved my life, 
at least for awhile.” 

Jack gazed with moistened eyes on the beautiful semblance of 
sainted Lilly : then, drawing a picture from his bosom, seemed to 
be comparing them. At last, he laid the one he carried in Mr. 
Arnold’s hand. 

“Do you see that?” he said. “It is my sister, or rather half 
sister, Dora. She was a creole, but I loved her with my whole 
soul. While on a cruise, some gay, gallant came and ruined her ; 
by promise of mairiage he won the gay dancing girl, whose life 
had been as a butterfly, and when I returned, she filled a suicide’s 


52 

grave and he had fled. I had no clue to trace him by— nothing 
hut the name Albert, that I found upon a handkerchief among 
her own.” 

The honest-hearted fellow wept great tears of sorrow for the 
lost girl. Mr. Arnold pressed his hand with kindly sympathy. 

“There, my friend, don’t grieve so; no doubt she is happy now, 
with the angels of God in Heaven; for .she was more sinned 
against than sinning.” 

“You may well say that, for there could not be a more gener- 
ous, self-sacrificing girl than Dora.” 

» 

CHAPTER XXV. 

As Sidney neared his point of destination, he felt that he was, 
indeed, alone, out in the great world, so far from all he loved. 
But his was a cheerful, hopeful heart, and he soon made many 
friends in the large metropolis of San Francisco, who liked the 
active, bright young man thrown amongst them. He soon had 
his sign swinging to the breeze and rather enjoyed the new situa- 
tion in which he found himself. 

For awhile his clients were as ghosts in imagination, while 
Rosa’s spirit seemed ever near him, and a mother’s smile was 
beaming upon him. He felt cheered and helped by their invisi- 
ble presence. Then, Rosa’s letters were so full of encouragement; 
he remembered the tearful, pathetic glance, given at parting, 
while at the same time her lips tried to bravely smile away all 
fear and sorrow ; and as he gazed over and over again at the fair 
face framed above his desk, he felt it was a powerful incentive 
for good and noble endeavors. 

So Sidney whistled gaily, and waited his chance. At last he 
had a case, and went to work with a will, to do all he could for 
his client. It was one in which public sentiment was involved, 
and he felt that if he came off conqueror, he would wear a feath- 
er in his eap worth having. 


At last the day came which was to try his prowess ; and well 
did he acquit himself. The case was won, and many plaudits 
•were his ; but, amid them all, there came between, the faces of 
Hosa and his mother, wearing such angelic smiles of content and 
happiness, that his heart leaped with joy, and his face was lit up 
with happiness from a source none knew of but himself. “Ah! a 
letter from Albert. What! going to New Orleans, and to spend 
the winter? I should think that would be the last place he would 
want to go to. But Al. is a strange man. I sometimes think he 
has no conscience — worth speaking of, and I feel that I am better 
without him, or his influence, although I never got into any act- 
ual crime; still, I know there were many hours worse than mis- 
spent in his society. Well, I hope he will, see the error of his 
ways, and, when Elsie is his wife, I think her influence will be 
good for him.” 

Then turning again to the delicate missive, Rosa’s weekly offer- 
ing, he almost forgot Albert and his mistakes. 

“Sweet girl,” he soliloquized, “I feel that your finer spiritual 
nature will aid me on — how much every line breathes of purity, 
peace, and love. I will ever be worthy of you, my darling, and 
keep myself spotless for your sake. I know that some men claim 
that men have certain privileges that women do not have; but I 
never could see it so. It seems to me a woman has as good a 
right to except purity from us, as we do from them; in my opin- 
ion, both must be equal, and it is as essential for men to be angels 
as it is for women. I never could see why one sex could do some- 
thing which the other sex could not do, without ignominy on the 
one hand, and good fellowship on the other. It is not fair, any- 
way !” and Sidney sprang to his feet, and paced the room with his 
exciting thoughts. 

“Well, this is a curious world, to be sure; there was ni~e little 
Janette Wells, ruined irretrievably by Will Humbolt; he, because 
lie had his thousands, could swell around, and even brag of the 


54 


deed, while she, poor little thing, was driven forth by her friends, 
to- find a home at last in one of the prostitution hells. My God ! 
its awful to think of; it seems as if I had suddenly awakened to the 
fact of so much corruption. I guess I will turn lecturer and leave 
the law. God knows I know of many who need the trumpet of 
some angel Gabriel to awaken them to their errors, and to the ter- 
rible retribution which will sometime be meted out to them. 

Sidney’s high honor and noble nature revolted from crime, and 
the causes of crime. His clear intuition looked beyond just what is. 
seen, and analyzed the facts too often unseen. He felt the incon- 
sistencies of a popular opinion, where his own sex was often 
feted, while the same stain was upon them for which the other 
sex was trampled in the dust. 

So it was near midnight before Sidney could compose himself 
to sleep. But when he did it was with a mental gratitude that 
no dead or living girl could lay any social crime at his door. 

» ♦ 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

The same curtained recess presents another scene in Elsie’s 
home. Albert is seated by Elsie, trying to still the tremor in his 
frame, as he asks her to accompany him on a short pleasure trip 
on the morrow. 

“I would go, Albert, but mamma will be lonely, you know, af- 
ter father goes, and he starts early this evening; he will stop a 
day or two at Buffalo, and then go on to Uncle Lee’s. 

“Oh! well, Elsie, your mamma has gramdma for company, and 
I want you all I can, before I go to New Orleans.” 

This was the first intimation Elsie had of his intention, and she 
was very much surprised. 

“Why, Albert, what has put that in your head?” 

“Oh it is merely a business transaction; but it may claim a long- 
er stay than I hope it will.” 


55 


“Dear, me, what shall I do? I wish we could only be certain of 
Cousin Mira’s coming; but I have received no answer as yet to 
my letter.” 

He did not tell her that the same letter lay in his desk at home, 
while she thought he had posted it for her. 

“Well, go ask your mamma if you cannot go with me on this 
excursion up the Sound ; we will be back in the evening about 
dusk.” 

Elsie went to fulfill his commission, and he laughed a short, dry 
laugh. 

“Shy little puss, she will fall into my trap nicely,” was his men- 
tal comment. 

Elsie returned, saying that her mamma thought she might as 
well go, for she had some visits of benevolence to make, and so 
she could spare her as well as not. 

So Albert left, with the injunction for Elsie to be up bright and 
early, as he would call for her about nine. 

Mr. Ainslie was hurried in his departure, but, as he kissed Elsie 
good-by, he seemed to see, for a moment, a dark mist before him, 
and Nietta’s prophesy was brought before his mind. 

“I will hurry up my return, dear Amy,” he said to his wife; “I 
cannot remain away from my home. Good-by, good-by, dear 
ones;” and he was gone. 

“ ’Tis the early bird catches the worm,” thought Elsie, as her 
blue eyes opened in the warm sunlight. “Oh! dear, I must hur- 
ry,” she exclaimed; “it is later than I thought, and Albert must 
not be kept waiting when he comes.” 

So the bright, happy girl arrayed herself in a dark fawn silk 
and gaily sang the while. 

“Come, Elsie, you are late this morning,” the mother said, en- 
tering her daughter’s room. Then sitting by the warm grate, she 
drew her toward her, and, as Elsie playfully knelt, kissed her 
repeatedly. She knew' not why, but she felt such a terrible cloud 
pressing about her. 


£6 


“I guess I am going to have an attack of nervous headache 
soon,” she said; “for everything seems so oppressive to my brain. 
I had a bad dream last night, also. It seemed as if I saw you in a 
ship, and you were sailing on and on; at last I saw it swallowed 
up in the waves, and I heard a voice say, ‘Save her ! save her, or 
she is lost!’ ” 

“Oh! mamma dear, I guess you ate too hearty a supper, and 
had the ‘nightmare.’ Don’t let such things disturb you. There, 
we must go now, to breakfast;” and Elsie, twining her arm around 
her mother’s waist, half led her to the breakfast room. 

Nine o’clock came, and found Elsie waiting with impatience. 
At length Albert appeared. 

“Good-by, mamma darling, and grandma, too,” said loving El- 
sie, as she left the house. She entered the carriage with Albert, 
and was swiftly driven away. 

At last they reached the beach, and entered a large steamer 
lying at the wharf. Elsie gaily tripped along, little thinking how 
her footsteps would lag on their return. 

“All aboard!” and the steamer swung out into the river. 

“Oh! dear, let us go to the cabin, Albert; I want to take a peep 
at the people there. I don’t see any great crowd that usually go 
on an excursion.” 

“Well, Elsie, to tell the truth, it is an excursion of two alone.” 

“Why, Albert! what do you mean, any way?” 

“Well, as I told you, I want you all to myself awhile.” 

“Yes, but you needn’t have told me a lib.” 

Albert took her arm, and entered the cabin. There were but 
few passengers, and it was a through boat to Halifax. “I will 
tell her before long,” he thought. 

‘•‘Come, Elsie, you had better lay down awhile, in your state- 
room, and rest after your ride. Here are some bon-bons, take 
them; children like good things.” 

Elsie thought she would do as he wished, for she could not 
quite understand Albert’s manner. As she lay thinking, she 


57 


kept eating the sweets, until she felt sleep stealing over her. 
In about an hour a step entered, and Albert, closing the door, 
sat down to view the situation, as he said: 

“Well, this is pretty good, so far; the bon-bons have given 
her a sleep which will last until morning, and my pretty bird is 
safely caged 1” 




CHAPTER XXVII. 

The morning broke dull, gray and heavy. A dense fog was all 
around, and the steamer was in mid-ocean. Elsie slowly opened 
her eyes, and gazed in bewilderment about her. 

“Gracious!” she thought; “what has happened? It seems as 
if I had slept an eternity.” 

A light rap, and Albert opened the door. She was too dazed to 
think of proprieties, so she saw him seat himself, and then rub- 
ing her brow, she tried to remember how she came there. 

“Why, Albert, what time is it? Why, haven’t we got there 
yet? I feel so queer.” 

“Well, look out; see, there is a great fog, it has overtaken us, 
and we can’t move a foot.” 

Elsie reeled to the window, but felt so faint and sick, she was 
compelled to lie down again. 

“I will get some water and bathe your head, Elsie; then, per- 
haps, you can see more clearly.” But already the heavy dose of 
opium, was sinking her into slumber again. 

“Well it works like a charm. I guess she must have eaten 
them all. I hope 'not, though, for perhaps they were rather 
many.” But he found several lying near her, on the berth. 
Quietly going out he joined the captain, and said, 

“My sister is not well; please see that no one enters to disturb 
her.” 


58 

Elsie slept till nightfall. The fog rolled away at sunset, and the 
steamer moved on. She again awoke ; this time she was more 
sensible, but a terrible headache had set in. Albert entered, 
bringing a strong cup of coffee, with some dainty provisions. 

“Here, Elsie, eat and drink this; you have not been well, or 
you would not slumber so.” 

Elsie mechanically took them, and ate as if half starved. 
“Why, I feel as if I had eaten nothing for five days,” she said, 
with a laugh, which sounded more like herself. After this she 
arose and smoothed her dress and hair. 

“Are we never going to get there, Albert?” It seems an age 
since I started.” 

“Elsie, sit down here, love; I have something to tell you — a 
confession to make, in fact.” 

Elsie obeyed, wonderingly. “Well, Albert, I am all attention. 

He paused, before commencing, for he felt himself on danger- 
ous ground ; he must still hold Elsie’s love, and as much respect 
as possible. At last he said, drawing her to him: 

“I have deceived you, dearest, about an excursion. We are 
away out from land, bound for Halifax ; from there to Florence, 
Italy.” 

Elsie looked stunned. “Oh! Albert, Albert! how could you 
deceive me so, and what do you mean by taking me away from 
my parents?” 

“Listen, dear Elsie: this uncle Lee of yours, to whom your fa- 
ther has gone, has a grudge against me, and hates me terribly. 
It should be needless to tell you that it is without foundation ; a 
business transaction that one of my partners and he had, I be- 
lieve he lost some money ; at any rate he blames me bitterly. I 
knew that your father, once there, your uncle would poison his 
mind against me, and all hopes of our marriage would be at an 
end. I have always felt that your father had a secret dislike for 
me, although I have all but saved his life.” 


59 


Elsie knew this latter part to be true. “But, Albert, mamma 
will go wild about me.” 

“Oh ! I have written a full confession to her — mailed it as we 
started ; so now, pet, cheer up, and once on shore we will be 
united so that no hand can separate us.” 

Elsie was too much in this strong man’s power to say much 
otherwise. She loved him intensely, and his wish was her law. 

“Well, Albert, I fear that such a step was not right, but now 
that it is taken I shall have to be resigned, although I must write 
right away to poor mamma, who will weep her eyes out about me, 
I fear.” 

“Yes, you must write;’’ and Albert brought her the materials. 

Elsie wrote a long, pathetic appeal of love, and sorrow ; and 
everything she could think of to mitigate such a rash step, as she 
felt they would all think it. 

Sealing it, Albert said, “I will mail it, and it will be sent by the 
first homeward bound steamer.” 

It is needless to say that it did not leave his pocket until the 
flames devoured it. 

“I told mamma to write to me, right away, at Florence. I shall 
never rest until I hear from them, and know that they have for- 
given their Elsie.” 

The generous girl had spoken as little of blame as possible in 
regard to Albert. And so the steamer sped on with a fair passage 
as all said. Albert had told Elsie that he had booked her as his 
sister, to avoid comment on his attentions ; so Elsie never contra- 
dicted those who addressed her as Miss Leslie. 

At the wharf, Albert hastened Elsie into a carriage, and they 
w ere soon at one of the best hotels in Halifax. 

“We will go right on to Florence, Elsie, and there be united.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

It was Florence, bright Florence, that gladdened tired Elsie’s 
eyes, as she awoke the morning after her arrival. 

“Come, Elsie,” said a voice at her door; “I am waiting for you 
to do some shopping with me.” 

Elsie, with girlish eagerness, hastily dressed, and descended to 
the parlor where she found Albert. 

“Come, you need some more things besides those necessary ar- 
ticles you bought at Halifax.” 

And soon they were out in the balmy air, enjoying the new 
sights and scenery of Italy’s fair city. 

Albert magnificently stocked Elsie with beautiful things. He 
bought roses, exotics, and blooming plants, as he said, for their 
marriage bower; statuary, paintings, and beautiful vases, were 
added to Elsie’s list of fancy finery. Finally they drove home, 
Elsie, after the day’s excitement, was quite herself again. 

“Oh! Albert, see if there is a letter for poor little me.” 

“Yes, I will go and see at once;” but he returned after a short 
time saying no word had yet come. 

Elsie felt ready to cry, but her lover said that to-morrow would 
perhaps bring it. 

“Now. Elsie, I will have a priest here at one o’clock; be ready 
darling, to be mine.” 

Elsie gladly assented. 

At the hour appointed, a gray friar, of the neighboring convent 
entered. Elsie had no time to make comment, and in a short 
time she was pronounced a wife. She felt all the sensations that 
most young brides feel, but calmly took her place as Albert’s 
wife. 


61 

They were thought to be married when entering the hotel, so 
Albert said they would have no witnesses. The friar looked as 
if he would do almost anything for the liberal sum which Albert 
gave him. 

After he was gone, Elsie said, “Why, Albert, what made you 
bring that horrid old Catholic priest? He fairly made me shud- 
der, with his owlish look.” 

“Well, Elsie, it is a hard matter to find one of our ministers 
here, so I took the shortest cut to find anything in human shape, 
that could make a lawful ceremony.” 

Elsie said no more. She felt so happy here with him she loved 
that she thought all he had done about right. 

He now thought his tracks completely covered, and went freely 
with Elsie from one resort to another; he kept her in one contin- 
ual round of excitement ; all that money could buy of beauty and 
fashion, was hers, for Albert had made a big draft upon the bank 
with which he was associated. 

“I guess the old general won’t disinherit me now,” he had 
thought; “for there won’t be much to disinherit from, as I mean 
to provide for myself liberally.” 

And so the days passed with Elsie. She would often sigh for 
some remembrance from home, but Albert kept her so busy with 
pleasure, that it was almost becoming a myth. 

“There, Albert, see that gray-haired old man, leaning on that 
sailor-looking man, for support !” 

Albert looked, and in spite of of added age and sickness, recog- 
nized Mr. Arnold. For a moment he was almost beside himself 
with fear, and turned pale as death. 

“Why, Albert, what affects you so? Do you know him?” 

“Yes: I thought he was dead,” he gasped. I heard that he 
was shipwrecked. I had a slight acquaintance with him, and 
will go and speak to him.” 

Mr. Arnold was walking in the open air, for the first time since 
his sickness. As Albert approached, he looked at him intently, 


and recognized him also. They shook hands, and Albert said; 

“It has been quite awhile since I last saw you. I was very 
much shocked at first, on seeing you here, for I had heard that 
you had found a watery grave.” 

“Yes, I came very near it, indeed; and if it had not been for 
this brave fellow, I would have gone to the other shore ; but he 
has saved me twice, now.” 

“Ah ! indeed?” and Albert scanned the face before him. There 
was a likeness to those eyes he had seen sometime, he felt sure. 

Jack also scrutinized the man of fashion and culture, with a 
look which had in it intuitive dislike. 

“Where is your wife, Mr. Leslie?” said Mr. Arnold. 

“Oh! I met with a sad loss. I buried her about six months 
after our bridal, but am now married again, and have my wife 
here.” 

“I shall be glad to make her acquaintance. Come and visit me 
in my room ; if your second choice is as sweet a girl as the first, 
I count you much joy,” and the old minister smilingly bade him 
good evening, going to his room, leaning upon his faithful atten- 
dant. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

“Well, Parson, did you ever feel your flesh creep when you 
came in contact with some people? Mine has just now, and for 
the life of me I don’t know why; but if ‘villian’ is stamped upon 
any man’s face, it is on that Mr. Leslie’s.” 

“Oh! now Jack, I guess not; he seems like a clever young man, 
to all appearance.” 

“Yes, to all appearance; but there’s where the rub is. It is all 
on the outside; there is no inside to him. I’ve seen his ilk before, 
and it is just such men who ruin such dear girls as my sister. 

“Tut, tut, Jack! you must not become so hard, without some 


63 

foundation. Wait until you see more of him, before you pass 
judgment.” 

“Well, my name is not Jack Dare, if he is not a villainous 
blackleg,” said Jack, aside to himself. 

Elsie was electrified the next morning by Albert saying that he 
had bought a little cottage of his own out in the suberbs, and that 
on the morrow they would move their effects into it. I will take 
you out to-day, dear, to see it.” 

So in a few hours they were rolling along the pebbly road, out 
to the new habitation. It was all that Elsie could desire. A small 
neat cottage, standing back, embowered in trees and shrubbery ; 
climbing roses covered the lattice work around the veranda, 
making it a bower of beauty. 

“Oh! dear, how lovely this little nesti3,” said Elsie as she 
bounded up the steps, and into the small, but pleasant rooms. In 
one was a large bay window looking out toward the lake, where a 
skiff was moored, which Albert said was their own. 

“Oh! Albert, I know that we will be so happy! There is nothing 
now lacking to complete our joy, except dear papa and mamma. 
Oh! how I long to hear from them; it is so strange they do not 
answer my many letters. ” 

“Well, Elsie, letter sending from this remote part is rather a 
precarious business. I think that they have written, and that 
the letters have been miscarried; so don’t fret over that now, but 
come with me through the cottage. See, here is the kitchen 
range, with bedroom attached, for our cook and dish washer to 
abide in. We will live retired for awhile, so that we shall not^ 
need but one servant, at present, to do for us two. I have given 
orders for the rooms to be furnished to-day and to-morrow, so 
that against to-morrow evening, all will be ready for us, and we 
will take tea under our own ‘vine and fig-tree.’ ” 

“I am sure I am delighted!” said Elsie, who loved her husband 
passionately. 

As they drove back and were entering the hotel, they encoun- 
tered Jack standing on the porch. With a respectful bow he said ; 


64 


“My master wishes you to be kind enough to spend* the evening 
with him.” 

Albert said that he would comply, but feared that his wife would 
be too tired to accompany me.” 

“Oh! no, Albert, I would like to go; our ride has only been a 
source of pleasure. I am not tired, at all.” 

Albert hastened into the house. He must put off Elsie’s going 
to see Mr. Arnold; so when evening came, he stole away and 
made a short call, telling the minister that his wife should come 
next time. 

“I sail to-morrow week,” said Mr. Arnold, for New York; 
have you any commissions to send ? It is true that I shall not go 
directly there, but will be there in about a month or two after I 
land. I might go and see your friends, and will be happy to serve 
you."’ 

Albert tried to calmly say that he would ask Elsie if she had 
any commissions for him, but a heavy shadow gathered about his 
brow, and he soon excused himself, as suffering from a severe 
headache, and withdrew. 

“Great God !” he said, as he walked in the open air; “what is 
to come next? Well, there is always a catching before hanging. 
I defy them all!” After he grew calmer, he went to Elsie’s room. 

“Why, Albert, where have you been? Not to the minister’s, I 
hope, without me.” 

“Oh! no; I have deferred our visit until some other time. X 
. want you to be up early in the morning, and go with me on a 
housekeeping excursion.” 

«♦* 

CHAPTEK XXX. 

We will now return to Elsie’s home, where all was wild conster- 
nation as they found that she did not return. Amy’s nerves suf- 
fered a terrible strain, for one of her nervous attacks was upon 
her, as darkness set in and Elsie returned not; as hour after hour 
glided by, she became distracted. 


65 

* ‘James,” he said to the footman, “go to Mr. Leslie’s and see if 
they know of Albert’s return; if they do not, go to Mr. Alton’s and 
see if Elsie is there.” 

Grandma had been trying to relieve Amy’s thobbing head, but 
she could do her no good, while the heart had so much unrest. 
As Amy sat with her head in her hands, the gypsy’s prophecy 
rang in her ears. It seemed to be repeated again and again; 
she feared, she knew not what; only every nerve and fiber seemed 
to echo, “The ‘Tea rose’ is in danger.” 

It was past midnight when James returned, announcing that 
he could not find them. 

“Old Mr. Leslie said that his son started for New Orleans this 
morning, and was not for believing me, when I said that 1 saw 
him in the carriage with Miss Elsie, myself.” 

Amy was nearly beside herself at this. Grandmother 
tried to soothe her, but her own heart was heavy with dread. 

“We will send a dispatch, Amy, to Mark, in the morning,” 
she said. 

“Oh! no, do not wait till then; do it right away. I feel that my 
poor child is in imminent danger.” 

So James was again sent out to telegraph to Mr. Ainslie, at Buf- 
falo, to return immediately. 

Thus the cloud grew thicker and darker every moment. The 
telegram found Mr. Ainslie at Buffalo, and hastened his footsteps 
homeward. There he found Amy prostrate upon a sick bed, suf- 
fering with a nervous fever. His first attention was to her he 
loved so well, lying with a continual moaning for her child. 

Leaving her in the care of his good mother, and the attending 
physician, he tried to obtain some clue to Albert’s course. He 
worked, but all to no purpose. Mr. Leslie had telegraphed to all 
points where he thought him likely to be, but alas, in vain. He 
was overwhelmed with shame, as he discovered his flight, and 
almost robbery of the bank. So deeply did it affect his interest, 
that he had to retrench in every possible way, in order to escape a 


total bankruptcy. He aided Mr. Ainslie, with all his power, to 
discover Albert’s retreat. 

One day, as Mr. Ainslie was returning home earlier than usual 
from his business, so that he might cheer Amy with his presence, 
in her convalescent sick-room, he was suddenly confronted by 
Nietta, her dark eyes gleaming with a warmth of hidden fire. 

“Signor, the ‘Tea-rose’ is far away. I have traced the snake to 
his hiding place ; he has borne her to a southern clime in Italy, 
fair Italy, the land of my birth! The hawk has taken his prey.” 

“Great God ! girl, tell me quickly, have you found them? I 
once believed that you lied, but lead me to her, and a rich com- 
pensation is yours.” 

“Ah! it is across the waters; you cannot go in a day.” 

“Come, come home with me, my wife will want to see you.” 

As he hurried on, the gypsy girl at his side, he saw just before 
him an old gentleman, and knew at a glance Mr. Arnold, whom 
he had heard was lost on the “La Salle.” 

“Can I believe my eyes?” exclaimed Mr. Ainslie; “you here 
alive?” 

Mr. Arnold grasped his hand warmly, for, ten years before they 
had known each other well. 

“Come in friends,” and Mr. Ainslie led the way to his spacious 
parlors. 

“Please be seated, while I go and speak to my wife; she has 
been sick quite awhile.” 

As he left the room he beckoned to Nietta to follow him. 
Passing up the broad stairway he knocked gently at Amy’s door 
telling Nietta to wait a moment without. As he entered, he saw 
Amy’s pallid face leaning against the crimson chair, while she 
was dozing in light slumber. Gently touching her, he said : 

“Amy, there is a friend outside the door who wishes to see 
you. It is Nietta, the gypsy girl, and she brings tidings of our 
lost one.” 

Amy started with nervous haste to rise, but Mark quietly put 


<57 

tier back, saying that he would bring her. Going out he whis- 
pered : 

“Speak gently with her, for she has been very sick.” 

The Italian girl entered the room very softly. “Dear Sig- 
nora,” she said, “I’ve wandered across the waters to find the 
beautiful ‘Tea-rose’; she is well, but she needs a mother.” 

Amy listened as Nietta cited her wanderings, and with a 
thankful heart, clasped the hand of Nietta with warm gratitude. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

Mr. Ainslie descended below, and seated himself by Mr. Arnold’s 
side. 

“Dear friend,” he said, “you have come to me in the hour of 
affliction. My business affairs are on the verge of bankruptcy 
and my only child was stolen from me three months ago,” 

Mr Arnold grasped his hand in sympathy. “Can it possible? 
Have you no clue to your daughter’s abductor?” 

• “Yes; I have but just obtained one.” 

“Will you name him, Mr. Ainslie?” 

“Albert Leslie.” 

“Can this be true? Why, I saw him about two months ago in 
Florence, Italy;” and Mr. Arnold recounted his seeing him there. 
“I wished to see his wife, whom he said was with him, and con- 
vey any message desirable to their friends here, but learned the 
morning I started, that they had moved out of the city. I suspect- 
ed nothing wrong, as he told me the story of his first wife’s 
death, a Miss Mira Lee, to whom I married him, in Connecticut.” 
Mr. Ainslie sprang to his feet. 

“Mira Lee! why, she is my niece. What other devilment has he 
been up to? I was on my way there when a telegram called me 
home.” The strong man shook with agony. 


68 

'‘Oh, my God! That such men live to blight womankind !” 

“Well, dear friend, I am at leisure now, and will do all I can to 
aid you. The first step, seems to me, will be to find Mr Lee and 
his daughter.” 

“So we will,” said the excited father, who was almost incapa- 
ble of thinking. 

Meanwhile Nietta had been softly stroking the head and hands 
of Amy. There was something in the full vitality and healthy 
form of the Italian girl, which gave new vigor to Amy’s frame. 

“I feel that she does me good, Mark,” she said to her husband’s 
wondering glance. 

“Well, Amy, I want Nietta to make this her home, and nurse 
you back to health again. Between her and mother, you soon will 
be able to get out again.” 

“I fear this cough, Mark, will never leave me. It was my 
mothers’s death warrant.” 

The sad husband and father turned to the window, to hide his 
tears. 

“Nietta, can I trust her in your care, while I go to find the 
‘Tea-rose’?” 

“Yes, Signor, I will do all I can;”but her prophetic vision saw 
more than his loving heart could know. 

“Mr. Arnold will you go with me in quest of Elsie? We will 
both go to brother Lee’s, for we wish him to accompany us.” 

Mr. Ainslie felt that it was not best to tell Amy the truth 
about Mira and Albert, and so left her in the dark, as he thought, 
mercifully. 

Going direct to the residence of Mr. Lee, they were told that 
he and Mira were absent in the South. Old Mehitable was be- 
wailing the harum-scarum chase of old Mr. Lee, as she called it. 

‘ ‘He seems to have lost his wits entirely, running around from 
one place to another. The last I heard of them, they be in Nat- 
chez, Natchison, I a’int settled which ; but that was nigh one 


69 


month ago. He said he would let everything go to ruin, but 
what he would have him ; and Mr. Ainslie, you know he is terrible 
sot in his way. ” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Ainslie; “but, aunt Hetty, what made him go 
South?” 

“Oh! the devil said he lived there, and the old man believed 
him ; but I told him to go in an opposite direction. I think then 
he might stand some chance to find him.” 

“Well, Hetty, he does not live South; but how am I to get on 
track of Brother Lee? I must find him, and — to be sure I cannot 
tell you anything more.” 

“I be looking for a letter from him every day, but its mighty 
unsartin he is, so I cannot say wait on that.” 

“How is Mira, Hetty?” 

“Wall, naow, haven’t you heard the story, how her sweet heart 
was broke just looking and looking for the varmint? Then, when 
her sweet little baby was born, how she took a fever, and never 
had any sense left after?” 

“Gracious Heavens!” said both men, “can this be true? And 
Elsie, darling Elsie, in such a man’s power?” 

“Sure now, no harm has come to your charming little girl as I 
remember her?” 

“Yes, Hetty, much harm; but we are completely tired out, and 
must have some refreshment and rest.” 

So Hetty was left to make dubious surmises, and shake her head 
mmderingly over the hasty repast she was preparing. 

Next morning the two friends concluded to go South, and trace 
them if possible, so they commenced their journey, with dispatch. 
They went as far as Nashville, and there Mr. Ainslie was taken 
sick. A slight stroke of paralysis rendered him unable to proceed 
at the time, so Mr. Arnold hastened on to Natchez, but he could 
not find where they were gone. 

“Down in the cane country,” the landlord said, where he found 
they had stopped some time before. He knew that further search 
would be almost useless, but kept writing each day to Mr. Ainslie 
of the sad, hopeless search. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Mr. Ainslie lay in anguish, to think that he could not get any 
further; and all the multiplied sorrows of his situation seemed to 
cluster around him with double force. He could not write to his 
anxious wife his condition, without imperilling her life. 

But prophet-eyed Nietta saw all, and wisely gave what she 
deemed best. At last Mr. Arnold returned, disappointed and sor- 
row-laden at such a poor result. 

“I shall have to go on, Mr. Arnold, able or not able; this inert- 
ness will surely kill me.” 

One month had already passed in fruitless search, when they 
took up their march back to their home ; for Mr. Arnold had per- 
suaded Mr. Ainslie that they had better do so. 

“I will write to Jack Dare,” he said; “he is faithful and true. 
I should have thought of this sooner ; but it is not too late yet to 
remedy my mistake. He will follow their track like a scenting 
hound, if I once ask him to.” 

“That is the best that can be done, until I recruit up a little.” 

So Mr. Arnold wrote to faithful Jack Dare, and gave him di- 
rections which he thought best, about a watch upon Albert. 

It was a beautiful day, when Florence wore her fairest sky, Uiat 
brave Jack was astonished by the news that he obtained from his 
minister, as he called Mr. Arnold. “Wall, now, if that don’t beat 
the dickens!” he exclaimed. “Why, the parson’s turned clear 
round, to be sure. Wall, I knew it was so, from the first, and 
told him so; but he thought such a slick fellow outside, was all 
right inside. It takes Jack Dare to see through a man like that. 
To be sure I do not know hardly where to look for him, but think 
I can scent him out. At any rate I will go at it, and see what I 
can do.” 


71 

So Jack wrote, in a very unintelligib le manner, his poor pros- 
pect at the time, and his hopes for the future. After dispatching 
his letter he sat down to look the road over, as he termed it. “I 
must so ‘about’his ship as to bring him to anchor in the parson’s 
arms, though I guess it won’t be much of a loving embrace he 
will get between them all.” 

Toward nightfall he wended his way about town, spying here 
and there, until some looked upon him as a suspicious character. 
But Jack knew how far to go to keep out of harm’s way, so went 
unmolested on his search. But day after day gave Jack no clue. 
At last after close inquiry at the provision markets, he found 
that there was such a man lived out in the south end, and thith- 
er he bent his steps. 

“Hang it all,” he said, “it’s no fun tramping round and peeping 
into every house this way, but I’ve sworn I’ll do my duty, and 
Jack Dare don’t swear to a lie.” 

Jack was as good as his word, and kept up his perambulations; 
but three weeks had gone by already, and still he had not ‘hit the 
nail on the head,’ as he expressed it. 

Albert had lived so secluded, and been so careful to cover all 
bis tracks, that he held them at bay completely. 

At last one day, Jack, under pretence of great thirst (which 
was one of his many pretences to gain admission to a house), 
stood at Albert’s home. He knocked, and, for awhile, in vain; 
at last a neighbor came, who lived near by, and told him the 
people were not at home. 

“Who are you, and what do you want?” said the irate damsel, 
who was sent to tell the applicant of their absence. 

“Wall, my name’s Jack Dare, "and I’m so confounded dry I 
want a drink. Who lives here, anyhow?” 

“A man by the name of Leslie, with as pretty a wife as you 
ever saw. But I should judge she did not get out very much, and 
they never answer calls. My mother went over, but the young 
master looked so huffy, we kept away after that.” 

“Wall, where are they gone?” 


72 


“I can’t tell that. Minta, their maid-of-all-work, said she knew 
no more than me. They only told her to keep in readiness to 
come when they called for her, and said that they would pay her 
wages between times. I guess, that he’s worth a mint of money. 
My gracious ! you ought to see how the house is furnished. It 
looks like a fairy palace.” 

Jack gave a grunt as an answer, and then asked where this 
Minta was. 

“Oh! gone home, somewhere, out twenty miles in the country. 
She is mighty proud of her master and mistress, and she says she 
has the best mistress in the world; but the master, she says, goes 
by streaks. Sometimes he’s ever so good, and then again he will 
swear like a trooper at some mistake she makes. However, she 
says he generally makes it up with some present; and Minta has 
more ribbons and pretty things than most girls around here. 

The loquacious girl was interrupted by her mother, calling to 
know if she was never going to get done gabbing. So, telling Jack 
she must go, she left him. 

Jack meditatively looked at the premises of Albert, and then, 
carrying a photograph of it in his brain, took his departure. 
“Well, I struck the nail this time, but the bird has flown — a jay- 
hawk at that. However, there is one feather in my cap, and I’ll 
write to the parson all about it, and then he will know what it 
is best to do.” 


« •> 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

It was the quiet evening hour at Mr. Ainslie’s, where once a 
gay group assembled together, but, alas, how changed. Amy was 
going around a mere shadow of her former self. It was too plain- 
ly seen that consumption had fastened its fangs upon her. Mr. 
Ainslie was still an invalid, to some extent, although now going 
to his business, which was in a very precarious condition. Al- 


/ 


73 


together, he was a man of many sorrows. His friend, Mr. Arnold 
made it his home with them, and Nietta still remained. She had 
been persuaded to quit her wanderings, and act as maid to Amy, 
where she seemed contented and happy. She still used her pro- 
phetic powers, and saw for them many things; but the dark ring 
of sorrow, that she saw for them, she kept within her own mind, 
thinking it unwise to tell them. 

The letter from Jack found Mr. Arnold, this evening, sitting 
sadly with his friends. “Ah! here is a clue,” he exclaimed, and 
all rejoiced. There had been that much light in the darkness. 

“But we shall still have to wait,” said Mr. Arnold. “Jack says 
that he will pay the house a visit every few days, although it is 
quite distant from where he stays.” 

“Nietta, Jack is such a good fellow, I shall have to strike up a 
match between you,” said Mr. Arnold, with an attempt at 
gaity. 

But the winter rolled on into the lap of spring, before any 
more tidings came from Jack. It was June, the month of roses, 
when the anxious hearts at last heard the summons: 

“Come, the Jay hawk has arrived.” In the meantime, where 
was Mira and her father? They had wandered aimlessly about, 
looking for Albert. She had just intelligence enough to know 
that that was their aim, and was not contented unless in quest of 
him. 

Aunt Susan was almost worn out, between travel and the rosy 
little babe she carried. It made for her a hard life, still she tried 
to be resigned, which was her favorite method for righting all 
things, which were incomprehensible to her. 

At last Mr. Lee found that his means compelled him to return 
home, where he learned, to his dismay, that his brother-in-law 
had been, and the mission which brought him. Hetty had writ- 
ten at random to them the account, but they had never received 
any of her missives. They had only written to her some advice 


74 

was needed to be given ; but they had such entire confidence in 
her ability, that they did not write very often. 

It was with great consternation that farmer Lee heard of the 
double misfortune, and he resolved to set out immediately for Mr. 
Ainslie’s home. So that same evening he was welcomed into the 
sad group where they were all sympathetic mourners. 

“Ah! brother Ainslie, ,, he said, “we have been badly duped. 
I feel that I can never get revenge enough out of him, for the loss 
of Mira’s reason and wrecked life.” 

“I fully concur with you brother Lee, but shall be satisfied to 
leave him to his conscience, if I can only regain Elsie, my lost 
flower. ” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Arnold, “revenge is of no value; it is only a 
passion that we had better let die.” 

“I don’t look at it in that way,” said Mr. Lee. “I think that 
such vipers must bite the dust; and I am resolved that he shall, 
when I meet him.” 

“Well, brother, I hope you will think different about killing 
him.” 

“And I, too,” said Mr. Arnold, “I shall be loth to think that 
I indirectly imbued my hands in human blood.” 

This conversation took place after Mr. Lee had been informed 
of his whereabouts. 

So they all concurred in the determination to set out on the 
morrow for Italy. The morning came, and sad was the parting 
between husband and wife, There was a fear in Amy’s heart that 
she would never see her husband again, although she could not 
frame her fear to him; but to Nietta, she afterward said: “I feel 
that I shall never see him more.” 

Nietta shook her head, but she more plainly saw the future. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

We will now leave our travelers to pursue their journey, while 
we enter Rosa’s boudoir. She and Ernie were chatting together 
like loving sisters — more loving than most of own sisters. 

“See, Erme! there comes the postman, and he has a letter, a 
letter! said Rosa, as she nodded her head to the postman’s know- 
ing eye. 

Catching the much-loved missive, she ran to Erme, so that she, 
too, might share its contents, for a letter from Sidney was always 
a happy event. Rosa impetuously tore off the envelope, and 
eagerly perused the contents. 

“There, Rosa, do not devour it, literally,” said Erme, laughing. 

“Oh! you dear pet; I have such good news. What do you 
think? Sidney’s old uncle, Sidney Herbert, whom he was named 
after, has just died and left Sidney one of his millions.” 

“The dear old fellow; if he had to go, he could not have done 
a better thing. So his loss is your gain,” said Erme, “Well, I 
do not suppose papa will object now. See, there he comes ; I 
mean to tell him right away.” 

“But, Erme, you have not heard it all, yet. He says that he 
shall start the week after his letter. Oh! dear, I am so glad,” the 
happy girl exclaimed. 

“So am I, Rosa,” said a bluff, hearty voice, just at the door. 
“Here, I too, have a letter, and I am truly glad that Sidney 
Worth can be my son-in-law, for he has true grit and merit, be- 
sides his uncle’s million.” 

“Now, papa, we will have a grand wedding. I want Rosa fit- 
ted out just the same as I would have been.” 


76 

“ To be sure, you generous little puss. I have not seen all of 
Rosa’s goodness to you for nothing. There, don’t hug me to 
pieces, girls;” for both girls had placed their arms about his 
neck. 

“Only a week, just think. But, Erme, don’t you believe they 
have found where Albert Leslie is, and Mr. Ainslie, with his 
brotber-in-law, Mr. Lee, and Mr. Arnold, have all gone after El- 
sie. Oh I dear; the sorrow they have had. I often wonder how 
my Sidney escaped a thorough contamination, by being so much 
with Albert.” 

“Well, perhaps, he has some magical wand to keep off such 
influences.” 

“ I guess, Erme, that it is the wand of a better organization ; 
and he often told me that he felt the influence of his departed 
mother, whom he felt shielded him and kept him from doing 
wrong.” 

“Oh! fie, Rosa; I do not believe that spirits ever return; now 
don’t you go and be so ridiculous. Why, mother says its only 
foolish, half-witted people who believe that way.” 

“Well, I must be half-witted, then, for, Erme,” and she whis- 
pered low, “I often see my father and mother; and they always 
seem so glad to come, and I always feel better after their coming.” 

“Oh, dear! now you have frightened me completely. I shall 
not rest nights, for fear of seeing something myself.” 

“ Well, Erme, it seems so strange to me that we need fear those 
we always loved on earth. Now, I believe in ministering angels, 
and find peace and joy in so doing. Sidney. thinks the same.” 

“Well, I suppose when you set up an establishment, you will 
have table tippings, and all such horrid things,” said superstitious 
Erme, whose nursery songs had been full of goblins and ghosts, 
to scare little girls into goodness; the ignorant nurse not knowing 
any better than to fill her childish mind with such nonsense. 

“Well, Erme, if we can have manifestations, we shall do so, 
that those we love may have a dwelling place with us, and by 


77 

their counsel and sympathy aid us to do right. I think, cousin, 
that when you get rid of these childish impressions, you will see 
the same as I do.” 

“Not if it is to make me a horrid Spiritualist, for mamma—” 

“There, Erme, please stop quoting mamma;” for Rosa but 
barely tolerated her aunt’s fashion-fawning ways, and superficial 
life. “We will not debate the question any further now, but wait 
until you have seen something. You know people should never 
make their decision without investigation.” 

“Oh! well, I suppose you will win me over; you always have 
as yet, and when you have Sidney’s aid you will be irresistible.” 

«♦+ 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

It was a balmy day in June, when Albert and Elsie arrived at 
their home in Florence. The soft air swept its gentle zephyrs in- 
to the small sitting room, furnished so cosily and luxuriantly; 
the rich lace curtains swayed to and fro, while wafted between 
them was the breath of roses which revelled in wild profusion 
around the little home. 

“See, Albert, my japonicas are almost in bloom; but the place 
has got to be a wilderness of sweets, and needs the pruning hand 
to get in order.” 

Albert’s face wore a hunted, tired expression. A man of the 
world, as he was, he could not always be contented to be tied, as 
he termed it, “to a woman’s apron strings,” and Elsie had, for 
the last few months, spent many a lonely our. In these hours 
her heart ached for her distant parents, whom she knew still 
loved her so well, although she thought it was very strange that 
they gave no answer to the many tender missives she sent, asking 
in loving words, to be still remembered. 

“I fear that there is something wrong,” she said, one day; and 
for the first time she doubted Albert’s faithfulness in regard to 
her letters. She felt stung at the thought, but in spite of every- 
thing, she could not divest her mind of the doubt. 

“ Well, it will do no harm to let Minta post one letter, and 


78 

watch for me a little; I am so hungry for a word that I can stand 
it no longer.” 

So this pleasant June day she sent a letter by Minta’ s hands 
to be posted, with the injunction not to tell Albert, for it was 
something to surprise him. She felt many qualms of conscience 
for so doing, but it seemed as if some motive, beyond her control, 
prompted her to the act. 

“It can do no harm,” at last she said, so Minta, who was pas- 
sionately fond of her mistress, obeyed her orders promptly, and 
one letter went safely on its way. Albert, coming in just after it 
was dispatched, and seeing writing materials near her, asked her 
what she had been doing. 

At first Elsie blushed, and stammered, “Nothing much.” 

But Albert advanced to her side, and, laying his hand on her 
shoulders and spoke again in a peremptory manner. 

She proudly arose and asked him what he meant, and if she 
was not mistress as well as he master. “I have written to mam- 
ma, and sent my letter by Minta, as you were not in.” 

Albert’s hand dropped, and such a deathly pallor was in his 
face, that Elsie was in a sore fright at what she had done. 

“See here, Elsie, you have ruined me, and now flight to some 
point unknown is our only chance, for they will all be upon me as 
soon as that letter is received. My God!” he groaned, “I cannot 
stand this way of living much longer. But mark you, if your 
father, or any of them, come to arrest me, I will put a bullet 
through them.” 

Elsie was horrified. She did not suppose Albert guilty of any- 
thing but loving her so well as to incur the displeasure of her par- 
ents by taking her from her home as he did ; and hitherto 
the plea that he had made, had sufficed to quiet her. But as 
she looked upon him, pacing the floor in such a tumult of feeling, 
with dark passion blazing in his eye, she trembled for the future. 
At last, stopping before her, he said : 

“Girl, I have paid dear for you; but rather than lose you, I 


79 

will pay clearer yet. You are the only one I ever loved, with such 
love as I can give, and, by the Heavens above, if any of them 
cross my path, they shall answer dearly for the crossing.” 

Elsie wept and quailed in fear at his language and passionate 
demeanor. 

“Well, Albert, let us go soon, but please wait a little, until I 
can recruit my strength. You know the fatigue of my journey 
has not yet worn off, and my condition needs quiet and rest. My 
letter will have to go, and they will have to get ready and come; 
so it will be several weeks before you need fear.” 

“Yes, I had better wait until they are upon me; but, as you 
say, it will be some little time yet, so I will improve it by finding 
a purchaser for this property, for when we leave here it will be 
forever. I shall go to Naples ; then, after you are stronger, we 
will go to France. La belle Paris will be the place for me, and 
there you can enjoy more freedom. If I fear any insecurity, I 
shall go to some other point, so you see you will enjoy a chance 
of traveling, on account of sending your letter,” and Albert grim- 
ly stalked out of the room. 

It was the first time that he had ever spoken to her in actual 
anger, and Elsie was illy able to bear his present mood. 

Minta had but just returned, and did not understand the state 
of things. Elsie wisely said nothing’. 

As Albert walked away, he meditated on what he foresaw to be 
his final ruin. He swore a fearful oath that he would never be 
taken alive, nor let them have Elsie as long as life remained. 


CHAPTER XXXYI. 

It was past midnight when a deep moan awoke Albert from his 
troubled sleep. Springing up, he saw Elsie sitting in her chair, 
suffering intensely. He felt at that moment all his love again 
with its former fervor, aud, placing her on the bed, hurried away 
for a physician. When the morning light broke, a beautiful babe 
was there, prematurely born, the physician said. But he was a 
fine boy, and Albert felt the glow of pride that all fathers feel 
over their first-born. 

Elsie knew that the fright and mental trouble had hastened its 
advent, but was thankful that it lived, and that she felt as well as 
she did. 

Albert was now all attention. Another had come to claim his 
care, and win him to moments of forgetfulness. “ They are my 
wife and child,” he said, “ and no law shall interfere.” He said this 
to try and quiet his internal fears, for he well knew, in reality, 
that Elsie was not his, but that still another one, far away, held 
the only right to call him husband. 

“ Great God ! what ever made me marry Mira, and treat her so? 
I believe that the devil gets into me sometimes. Elsie I love, but 
Mira I hate; and yet she was a good girl, and there is no real 
cause for my dislike. Still, I expect I ought to have done differ- 
ently.” 

These were Albert’s first repentant feelings, and were called in- 
to being as he held his lovely boy. As Albert mused thus, the 
cords of destiny were even then weaving a mesh around him — ■ as 
all evil deeds claim their own reward. 


Si 

As he laid liis babe in the crib, he heard a knock at the door. 
Every stranger always gave him a start. They had but few 
callers. Elsie was now convalescent, and able to sit up in her 
room ; and he was meditating a flight soon, little thinking that 
the avengers were upon his track — even at his door. 

As Minta obeyed the summons, she was confronted by Mr. 
Ainslie, Mr. Arnold, Mr. Lee and an officer. Mr. Lee asked if 
Albert Leslie lived there. 

“He does,” said Minta. 

Albert, from an adjoining room, heard the voice, and knew it 
in an instant. He hastily closed the door of Elsie’s room, and, 
obtaining his revolver, waited their entrance. 

Mr. Ainslie tried to push Mr. Lee aside, but the infuriated fath- 
er jostled him away, and as Minta opened the door, confronted 
the one who had made desolate his home. Raising the revolver 
he carried, he aimed it at Albert’s heart; but he was too late, for 
the sharp report from Albert’s pistol, was scarcely heard when 
the ball struck Mr. Lee’s right hand, breaking several fingers, 
but with more fatal effect pierced Mr. Ainslie. 

Dashing aside the officer, Albert, with superhuman strength, 
bounded through a window and was gone, with the officer in hot 
pursuit; but, stranger as he was in that part of Florence, having 
come with the party, he was soon outwitted by Albert’s knowl- 
edge of the whole locality. 

Mr. Ainslie breathed his last in his daughter’s arms, assuring 
lier of all their forgiveness, and telling her to hasten back to a 
broken-hearted mother. Mr. Arnold ministered to his dying 
friend, with all of a friend’s love. 

Elsie was wild with agony and fright, and went from spasm to 
spasm, until the physician feared that she would never recover. 

Mr. Lee was horrified at the sad events. He had given up the 
pursuit of Albert, and now had to do all in his power for the strick- 
en household. 

Mr. Ainslie was carried to his final home, and in the beautiful 


82 

cemetery they laid the weary, grief-bowed father to rest, there to 
be left alone, in a foreign land, as Nietta had prophesied. The 
birds would sweetly sing his requiem, but the loved ones could 
not come to visit his grave. 

Elsie slowly came back to life ; her strong constitution saved 
her, the doctor said. At last she was able to take up her burden 
and prepare to return home. But, alas ! no longer the bright 
beautiful Elsie. Sorrow had imprinted a deep shadow over the 
smiling face, and a morbid dejection marked her whole attitude ; 
only in the care of her babe did she seem to find pleasure. He 
was an embodiment of both of them — a gift from lost love ; sa 
Elsie would sit for hours tracing the much-loved lineaments of 
Albert, with her own, in his baby face. 

One day she said to her uncle, “How is Mira, I had forgotten 
to ask?” 

A deep, heavy cloud came to his brow. “Elsie,” he said “can 
you bear the truth?” 

“Yes, anything, now, uncle.” 

“Well, Mira is insane; made so by Albert Leslie, and this ia 
what brought me here. • I was afraid to tell you before, but as 
you say, no new horror can surely be added.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why, Elsie, Mira was Albert’s wife; made so during a short 
sojourn among us, only to be deserted by him for you. He lied, 
deeply lied about his residence; we tried to find a trace of him, 
but in vain. After her little girl was born, she was taken with a 
slow fever which dethroned her reason, having become affected 
before her sickness. It was thus I came as an avenger, but, alas ’ 
it fell on one I least expected. 


CHAPTER XXXYII. 

Elsie sat as one stunned ; here was another blow. Her cousin 
made a victim of wrong. For awhile it seemed as if she could 
not comprehend the situation; then, bursting into tears wept un- 
restrainedly over all their ruined lives. The old man wept with 
her while Mr. Arnold, with husky voice tried to give them words 
of cheer. 

“I married them, Elsie,” he said; “but I will never unite two 
again in strict private.” 

“ The certificate was stolen by him, so you see if Mr. Arnold 
had not been saved there would have been no earthly witness. 
They had to go to him ten miles, as he was so particular as to 
wish a minister of his own persuasion. I was half sick at the 
time with rheumatism, and Susan thought it would be just as 
well for them to go alone. Mr. Arnold Was on a visit to our lo- 
cality for his health, and boarded at the hotel. So you see,” said 
Mr. Lee, “that it was all of the Devil’s planning from the first, 
and I feel that I shall never forgive nor forget.” 

As her uncle relapsed into moody silence Elsie was still weep- 
ing; they were tears to relieve her aching heart, but as calmness 
resumed sway she understood for the first time her own situation. 
She was no wife as another had a prior claim ; and her child, her 
beautiful boy was illegitimate. As these things forced their 
truth upon her, she felt stricken again. Other blows had fallen 
heavily but this seemed heavier than all. She knew that she 
must bear the cold world’s scorn, and if her life forces had not 
been strengthened she would have gone mad. 


84 


Mr. Lee now hastened preparations for departure, The beau- 
tiful home was given into strange hands and Elsie looked upon 
it for the last time. She visited her father’s grave, and plucked 
some blooming flowers as the sad, sad mementoes of these bitter 
days. After all arrangements were completed she felt as though 
she had scarcely any strength left. Her only hope now was to 
cheer if possible the beloved ones over the ocean, waiting so anx- 
iously, each day like a weary dragging chain; for they had in- 
formed Amyonly of the flight of Albert and that Elsie was sick, 
but that assoon as she was able they should return. 

Amy looked in vain for some letter or word from her husband 
and wondered why she received none. Rosa and Erme came each 
day to try and cheer her, while Nietta’s dark eyes looked through 
the veil which hung between, and read the far-off tragedy; she 
felt that she dare not tell her mistress what she saw and so wait- 
ed with the rest for their return. 

Rosa was soon to be a wife and she felt a happy one. Three 
months from that time was appointed as the eventful day which 
should seal their two lives as one; and she waited impatiently for 
Elsie’s coming, scarcely realizing that there could be any change 
in Elsie. The days dragged on until at length a telegram was re- 
ceived which prepared Amy to meet her long lost daughter ; but 
as no word came from her husband she said ; 

“Mother, I fear some evil has happened to Mark; I feel a 
something in my brain and heart that I cannot understand.” 

“Oh! no, Amy; I hope not.” 

But grandma also had her misgivings and secret fears. 

It was a bright summer day when the travelers arrived in the 
city. 

“Home, home again,” thought Elsie, “but I would rather now 
sleep in Italy’s soil or under the ocean waves. If it was not that 
I owe a duty to my loved ones here, I would gladly go to father.” 

It was with tremulous fear that Elsie entered her home, and 
her mother’s presence for all was wild tumult in her brain; she 
dreaded to tell her mother of their loss. 


“ Elsie, oli! my darling, ’ said the gentle mother, “the hour has 
come for which I have prayed.” 

She also welcomed the sweet babe not knowing yet Elsie’s situ- 
ation, as her letter had told of marriage. 

“But where is your father, my dear husband ? ” said the grate- 
ful mother. 

It was then that Elsie aroused herself to break* gently the sad 
tidings. 

“Mamma, papa could not come.” 

“ Why ? Oh! why ? tell me the worst; do not keep me in sus- 
pense.” 

“Mamma,” said Elsie through broken sobs, “his grave is in 
Italy.” 

But Amy heard only the word “grave” and a deathly swoon 
followed which threatened to terminate her life at any moment. 

Poor, grief stricken grandma, ministered with feeble hands to 
the heart-broken wife, her own heart bleeding for her favorite 
son. 



CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Mrs. Ainslie slowly recove ed, and regained her usual apparent 
strength, but the grave had marked her for its own not far distant. 

Elsie was met by a few loving friends, such as Rosa and Erme, 
with Sidney Worth, but many others, who once claimed her pres- 
ence and acquaintance as an honor, now shrank back; for all New 
York was agog with Elsie’s ruin. Some blamed, and some pitied 
her. Many had a version very far from the truth, but all united 
in saying that it would be no longer respectable to cultivate El- 
sie’s companionship. 

The child was looked upon with scorn, and the lisping-voiced 
gentry thought them, altogether, very reprehensible characters. 
To make matters still worse, Mr. Ainslie was declared bankrupt. 


86 

Amy was too much broken down to give any directions, so that, 
it all fell upon grandma to adjust the ruined affairs, and to find 
some retreat to which they could go in peace. There was. 
enough left to buy the small place we saw in the opening chapter 
and thither they went to bury themselves from a cold world. 

Rosa and Erme were staunch friends, but Mrs. Alton forbade 
Erme going to^ee Elsie, for fear, she said, that it might injure 
her in society; but Rosa was now her own mistress, and scorn- 
fully defied anyone to hinder her going where her reason and 
affection led her. 

“To think,” she said to Sidney, “that they can treat them so, 
after enjoying their hospitality as they have.” 

Sidney sighed. “It is the way the world goes, my Rosa, but I 
am truly glad that you are so different. See here, Rosa, I felt as 
plainly as I now do yours, my mother’s hand last night; it passed 
over my forehead, and again I heard her voice, saying, ‘Sidney, 
my son, thou hast now thy prize for well-doing; go on, thy lot 
shall be bright henceforth.’ Oh ! Rosa, I felt so happy; her di- 
vine presence seemed to fill my room with a beautiful glow, and 
her influence shed around me all that a mother’s love brings. 

Rosa’s eyes sparkled proudly, for she loved Sidney for the in- 
ward value of heart-treasure that he possessed. Their millions 
were as dross, beside the pure, internal stream of healing waters, 
for the body and mind, from which they both drank. 

“Rosa,” he said, with tender emphasis, “our home must not 
only be for ourselves, but for invisible occupants, who can come 
to teach us the way of truth, and preserve us from the many mis- 
takes that mankind are apt to fall into.” 

“Yes, Sidney, I am with you in all your desires, for I, too, ex- 
perience the presence of dear ones gone before. I have often felt 
the presence of my dear parents, and know that they guard and 
guide me for good. So we will have a home where angels dwell, 
who will in turn, teach us to be more angelic in our lives; for I 
believe with you, that it is as we determine things within ourselves 


87 

and put into practical execution, that we obtain still higher light, 
and consequently more happiness; for, as we live, so we die, and 
enter the beyond. ,, 

This conversation took place on the evening before their wed- 
ding. It was then they pledged themselves to each aid and sus- 
tain the other. The higher marriage had thus already been 
contracted, only awaiting a recognition before the world. 
Their’ s were happy hearts; no cloud dimmed their horizon, for 
the morrow was to usher in a new experience, with its beginnings 
of future determination. 




CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Rosa’s bridal day was one of sunshine and beauty — an autumn 
day, when October brought her colored leaves to deck the forest in 
gay garments. The parlors of Mr Alton were thrown open to the 
many guests, for they determined to make a grand affair of Rosa’s 
wedding; they would do the same by Rosa that they would have 
done if it had been Erme that stood in her place, for Mr. Alton 
now took great pride in his prospective son-in-law. Not only his 
grit, as he called it, but, better still, the million left by his uncle, 
appealed to his nature with a voice of pleasure. 

Sidney cared little for Mr. Alton’s views about himself, or any 
of his belongings. He was now independent, and although he 
should treat him with the respect due the relationship, still he 
feared that there would always be a barrier between their 
natures, 

Rosa looked as sweet as a rosebud in her rich satin, over which 
was flowing lace, gathered here and there with white roses, touched 
with sea-shell pink. The long lace veil floated away from the 
beautiful curls, while the orange spray rested lovingly on the no- 
ble head — but still more loving was the warm hand-clasp that 
Sidney gave her, as he led her under the bower of vines and 
flowers erected for the occasion, herself the fairest flower of all ; so 


88 

Sidney thought, as his eyes rested upon her before the minister 
commenced the ceremony. Ah ! rich young hearts, there are not 
many that start out with such fair prospects of happiness. 

There was nothing to mar the occasion; it was one of feasting 
and joy. The gay party entertained were full of life and vivacity ; 
music poured forth its enchanting strains, and the light footsteps 
of gay dancers kept fairy time. The large mansion and grounds 
without, were fully illuminated ; improvised arbors and bowers 
were scattered here and there, where the breath of flowers breathed 
their sweet perfume. 

Sidney and Rosa were not unmindful of the happy scene, but 
their hearts were singing songs of gladness, and, unknown to 
outer vision, they felt the ministering hands of unseen loved ones. 

Many were the congratulations, and good wishes, which flowed 
in upon them ; but none were so welcome as the voices which 
breathed into their hearts a blessing on each head from the spir- 
it land. 

One week and they would be on their way to San Francisco, 
for it was there Sidney had determined to make his home. They 
had persuaded Mr. Alton and family to accompany them, and 
felt that the change of climate would be beneficial to Erme, as 
her health was in a delicate condition ; besides she could not bear 
the thought of a separation from Rosa. 

Mr. Alton was to have a home close beside that of Sidney. His 
wife was very loth to leave New York, and her dear five hundred 
friends, but as she could see no help for it, consented to make the 
change, though very reluctantly. 

They arrived safely upon the Pacific coast, and Sidney, select- 
ing a locality, went to work building a home to suit the taste of 
Rosa and himself. He determined to still pursue his profession, 
and eventually make for himself a name. He felt that idleness 
was the ‘thief of time,’ and was determined that he would be a 
drone no longer. 

Rosa entered into his hopes and plans with great zest and ear- 


89 


nestness; and it was with pleasure that the opening spring found 
them in their new home, where all that the heart could wish of 
taste and beauty, contributed to their love of the beautiful. 
There were no ornaments or trappings for mere display, nor any 
straining aftereffect; their aim was to embody their ideas of har- 
mony into actual life. So it was that every one felt the happy 
influence of their home, where loving words and kind smiles were 
always the rule. 

“ I declare, Mr. Alton,” said his better half, “I believe that 
Erme is getting some of those distasteful ideas that Sidney and 
Rosa entertain — of spirit return. I do wish that they would not 
let her hear them talk; but worse yet, I believe that she sits in 
their ‘select circles.’ ” 

“ Well, Cora, I have seen nothing yet which I consider repre- 
hensible, and Sidney is the last man to swallow anything, without 
some true reason why he should do so. I am not concerned about 
Erme, as she seems so much healthier and happier. I am glad of 
anything which will work such benefits.” 

“ Well, for my part, Ido not want anything to do with it; I 
think that none but the common people ever have much to do 
with such things. Now I always taught Erme her catechism, and 
gave her all the insight that I could into our creed and Divine 
teachings, and warned her to beware of all of Rosa’s foolish imag- 
inings, which were given to her by^her parents. I am sure that I 
have tried to do my duty, and keep her from such things.” 

“ Well, Cora, so long as I see such good results brought forth, 
as Sidney and Rosa are bringing out in their home, I have nothing 
to blame, and only wish that you and I could take some lessons.” 

“Fie! Herbert; the next thing you will be wanting Erme to be 
a medium.” 

“ Well, I do not care if she is. It has not hurt Rosa, and they 
may try to make her one if they wish.” 

Mrs. Alton arose supreme disgust ; her delicate aristocracy was 
terribly shocked, and if she could only have got up a sham of hys- 


90 

terics, she would have been glad to have done so. But, after 
entering her own room, she felt that there w r as much truth in her 
husband’s remark, and instead of salts and smelling bottle, she 
silt down for once in her life to sober reflection. 

*♦» 

CHAPTER XL. 

Cora Alton had been the petted child of doting parents. She 
was not, by nature, of an ill-disposition, but had been spoiled by 
them in letting her have her own way completely, so that when 
she married Herbert Alton, it was more for the good match than 
from true love. To be sure, they got along well, as the world 
goes, but she could not be blind to the great difference between 
Rosa’s home and her own. 

At last she said, “Well, if communion with spirit friends makes 
such happy people as they are, I guess I may as well give up.” 

One year has gone by, with its many details marking its pas- 
sage. Here, in Rosa’s home, there has come a tiny messenger of 
joy, bringing to the loving hearts a new link of love. Little Myr- 
ta was a bright, active babe — a very treasure, they all thought her. 
Erme had now a new delight. Although but a child in stature 
the woman-heart glowed within, and little Myrta touched a new 
chord of her being. She often felt the tender longing for the love 
which true conjugal life brings. “But alas!” she sighed, “no one 
will ever love poor me.” 

She had become much healthier; a new light was in her eyes, 
and the tinge of rose color upon her cheek, but the deformed frame 
was still the same. So Erme often viewed herself with a longing 
sigh, for some beauty akin to Rosa’s ; however, she did not often 
repine, she had so much to love, and so many to love her, that 
she felt it was foolish to mourn at a destiny she could not help. 
Beside there was now unfolding a good clairvoyant power for her, 
and she enjoyed the beautiful visions which came before her. 

So little Myr.ta had loving hands and hearts to welcome her ad- 


91 

vent. She was, indeed, a lovely child, with a good starting point, 
a fair organization to commence life’s duties with; so Sidney and 
JKosa felt, as they never tired looking at the sweet baby face. 

“I guess she will be a match for Elsie’s boy,” Rosa, laughing- 
ly said. 

“Not if he has much of Albert in him,” said Sidney. 

“Well, they look a good deal alike, and I guess they will be 
brother and sister,” said happy Rosa; “she is light, like you, and 
Elsie’s boy is like her.” 

“But Myrta has your brown eyes, Rosa, and little Willie’s are 
as blue as the sky.” 

“So they are.” 

“Well, we will discuss the baby question another time, as I 
have a letter here, and I wish to ask you about its contents.” 

“ What, a letter from Mr. Arnold?” said Rosa, looking at it. 

“Yes; he writes to know if he had better come to California 
for his health. He says he is broken down with his labors, and 
that he cannot last long. You know he is quite alone in the 
world, and I have been thinking of offering him a permanent 
home, where he can spend the remainder of his few days on the 
earth.” 

“Oh! yes, Sidney; I always had a great liking for the dear old 
man, so true to his light. To be sure, we will not agree as to our 
convictions of right ; but that does not matter. Send for him, by 
all means; tell him how we stand, and say that we will give him 
a cordial welcome.” 

“So Sidney wrote a long, kind letter, stating their belief and 
opinions, but adding, “We will all aim for an eternal home; it 
does not matter much, so we walk the road aright, and live up to 
our highest conviction of truth.” 

Mr. Arnold received the letter in due time. He was surprised 
at Sidney’s turn of doctrine, but was not a person who had any 
hobby to ride, or prejudices to overcome. He thought that others 
had the same privilege he enjoyed himself, of seeking truth, 


92 


although it might differ widely from his own deductions. So he 
did not hesitate to accept the generous offer of Sidney. He knew 
that they were wealthy, and that his days were numbered. 

So the next month saw him ensconced as a member of Sidney’s 
family. There was much for them to talk about. Mr. Arnold 
had visited Elsie and her relatives before he started. He: told 
them that Mrs. Ainslie was a confirmed invalid with consumption ; 
that she was confined to her bed, and could not leave it but for 
the grave. Elsie, herself, was fast nearing the same home ; al- 
though going about, she had a vague, dreamy aspect, with a ter- 
rible timidity or shrinking from public gaze. He felt that she, 
too, w’ould not last long after her mother left her. 

Old grandma was quite strong ; she bore the whole weight of 
responsibility. They had a small income left, after the purchase 
of the small place, so they lived on the interest, which, though 
but little, seemed to suffice to keep them comfortable. 

Rosa said she often sent them many little delicacies, but feared 
to do much, as they were all so sensitive to feeling themselves 
dependent upon bounty. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Arnold, “they are proud, to be sure; but El- 
sie seems to do all that she does do mechanically ; it seems as if 
her body and soul were apart. I never saw her smile -while there, 
except once, at her little boy. Albert’s name is never mentioned. 
Mrs. Ainslie appears to know that she will soon join her husband, 
and I feel that it will be better to be so.” 

“Oh! my heart bleeds for them,” said the impulsive Rosa, wip- 
ing her weeping eyes. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

We will now return to Elsie’s home; it is November, and the 
fitful, chilly gusts go sweeping by. As Elsie goes about, doing 
the lighter tasks allotted to her by grandma, she feels that she has 
done with earthly joy. Her life looks now to be a drear monot- 
ony. All her heart treasure and love had been given to Albert; 
the shock of death, and his perfidiousness had sank deep within 
her soul, completely paralyzing her heart strings. Disease, with 
its insidious tread, was slowly working its way upon her, and she 
felt that death would be sweet, for life was but a clog. 

“I, too, shall go when mamma goes,” she murmured, “and 
you, my boy, will be alone with grandma; mamma cannot stay, 
beautiful pet, for grandpa is calling her. 

So Elsie grew familiar with that visitant which some call grim 
death. She knew that her mother would never see another 
spring-time, and felt that she would not tarry long behind her. 

Grandma’s eyes were often more dim from tears than from age 
as she had a hale constitution, and had been inured to many 
hardships ; so she bore the troubles which thickened around her, 
bravely doing her best each day, and trusting to God for deliver- 
ance in time. Hers was a noble nature, truly. 

November frosts had come when grandma was called to wipe 
the death dew from Amy’s brow. The King of Terrors found 
her a willing subject; calmly and peacefully she entered into 
what, to many, is the great unknown ; but, upon her deathbed, 
her eyes were opened to behold the loved arms of her husband 
stretched out for her, and her last words were, “I come, I come!” 


04 


Elsie had looked so long for the change, that she received it 
calmly, and, although she murmured deeply, still she felt that the 
reunion was not far off. So they laid her body away in the grave 
“over yonder,” where the sighing zephyrs sing a mournful re- 
quiem. 

Elsie again took up the poor remnant of her life, but the spring- 
time found her in such a prostrated condition that the physician 
was called. lie said that there was no actual disease, but a grad- 
ual shrinkage of the whole system, and that the lungs would suf- 
fer most from the condition. He said that no human aid could 
cure her, for the mind was the main cause; if she could change 
locality and climate, go among strangers, she might derive some 
benefit, but he feared even that would do no good now. 

Grandma sought to arouse her, to divert her mind, and urged 
her to write to Rosa, and say that she would come, to the many- 
repeated invitations that she had received from her. To all these 
entreaties she gave a pathetic “No.” She could not bear the 
sight of strangers, she said, and it would only make her worse; 
besides she wanted to die and be at rest. Grandma could do no 
more than to wait again for the death angel to claim his own. 

It was the middle of June, again the roses had come, and 
grandma’s small grounds were a blooming paradise, when Elsie’s 
hour had come. The soft air fanned her fair brow, while the gol- 
den hair clustered around it, looking like a halo of light ; a peace- 
ful smile was upon her lips, and a low murmur of “Albert” came 
to grandma’s ear. At that moment a knock was heard at the 
door, and grandma, thinking it was one of the few neighbors 
that dared to risk their reputation, to be kind, went to greet the 
newcomer. She was met by a staggering step, and the bloated 
visage of the once handsome Albert stood before her. 

“Elsie, my wife,” he said hesitatingly; “I came to see her — 
have just heard that she was sick.” 

Grandma was frightened, for once, truly; she had heard the 
whispered name, and here, as if in answer, came the one who had 


95 


ruined all the fair hopes of Elsie, her destroyer, as she called him; 
but grandma felt that this was not the hour for revenge — fell 
thoughts — and the marred visage before her attested to the truth 
of the saying, “That the way of the transgressor is hard.” So, 
silently motioning the way, she led him to Elsie’s room. 

As he entered, Elsie’s eyes were on the sunset glow which 
lighted up the hill and vale ; the beautiful face was bathed in its 
light, and Albert felt that he was in the presence of an angel. 
Ilis sin-stained, sin-crushed soul trembled with agony, for all 
the love his nature could know, had been given to Elsie. He 
made a step into the room, but staggered, and would have fallen, 
if grandma had not supported him. The movements attracted 
Elsie’s attention, and with one gasp she shrieked, “Albert!” and 
died. 

Albert behaved like a madman, praying wildly for her to return, 
to be his Elsie once more. 

“Now you can be mine,” he said, “for Mira has gone. They 
are all going, ain’t they, Mrs. Ainslie?” he said, with the mocking 
laugh of delirium. 

At that moment the physician and one of the neighbors entered. 
Poor grandma was almost too terrified to speak, and little Willie’s 
pitiful cries for mamma to awake, were painful to hear. The 
physician’s first care was Albert; he was now senseless, and in a 
raging fever. He was removed to grandma’s room, and again she 
was called upon to help those who wTestle with death. 

Elsie was at rest, and the little world of scandal-mongers now 
came to offer their services. 

“You have treated her as an outcast in life, said grandma, “see 
to it that you leave her alone in death.” This she said with stern 
emphasis, excepting the kind help of a few, who had braved pub- 
lic opinion to give some healing balm to their afflcted neighbor. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

So another grave was made beside the weeping willow which 
shadowed the mother’s resting place, and more flowers were 
planted by the tender heart and kind hands of old grandma. 

Albert was removed to Dr. Manford’s home. He felt that it 
would not do to tax grandma with this added burden, and, as 
his residence was but a stone’s throw, Albert was carried there, 
after a few week’s sickness, on grandma’s bed. He still raved 
on ; brain fever, the doctor said, and well he may have it, after 
all that he had done. 

Grandma went often to see him, for hers was a Christian heart, 
and she strived to bear calmly all the multiplied troubles around 
her, and also felt that his, indeed, was a fearful retribution, as 
she heard him rave about all his past deeds. 

“Mira!” he would scream, “keep away from me with your hor- 
rid, mocking laugh. Oh! you will claim me, will you? No! you 
shall not, for I am Elsie’s.” 

Then he would dash the clothing aside, and try to rise ; in his 
madness, he seemed superhuman in strength, and it was found 
necessary to bind him. Then it was Elsie that he saw, and his 
sobs were heart-rending to hear. 

Oh! Elsie, Elsie!’’ he would cry, “come to me; come and just 
bathe my head, and say that you forgive me, for I know you do. 
Let me see you smile, and look into your kind blue eyes once 
more,” holding out his hands, and pleading for the Elsie who 
never came. 

Then he would mourn, and weep, until his sickroom was a les- 


97 

son, that none who witnessed could ever forget. 

But one day when the delirium was worse than usual, he called 
out, “take her away!” 

“ Who?” says the doctor. 

“ Why Dora, Dora ! Don’t you hear her saying that she owns 
me, and saying that she is going to punish me for what I did in 
New Orleans? See! she has a chain of iron, and she says that she 
will bind me hand and foot in a hell of fire and brimstone. Oh! 
my God! I can stand it no longer;” and the dew of terrors stood 
out upon his brow. 

“Just mercies,” said grandma, “I forgive the poor creature; it 
is fearful to see his agony.” 

“ Yes,” said the doctor, “I have almost given up hope. His 
system may tough it through, for he has a splendid physique, nat- 
urally.” 

So the days went by and the heated month, July still found 
Albert a prisoner, but the fever had abated, and there was hope, 
the doctor said, of his recovery. His father had been sent for, 
and both parents had answered the summons. They received 
him back as if from the grave, for they had received no word from 
him, till now, since they last saw him starting, as they thought, 
for New Orleans. 

As he slowly gained his strength, and his reason returned, 
he recognized his parents, and remembered what brought him 
there. Mr. and Mrs. Leslie loved the beautiful boy, and Albert 
longed to hear himself called father. But as Albert grew better, 
grandma gradually kept him away, as she feared that Albert 
would seek to claim him, and she felt that she could never have 
him removed while life lasted. They spoke to her about it, and 
said they would take her, too, and make her a pleasant home, for 
Mr. and Mrs. Leslie were good, true people ; but grandma quietly 
put all their desires aside. 

“ I cannot leave here,” she said; “those graves “over there” claim 
my attention. It is my wish to remain, and Elsie’s boy .is my all.” 


98 

She said this with a quivering voice; so they obtained her prom- 
ise that if sickness overtook him, that she would let them know. 

Albert was now so far recovered as to be able to go home, but. 
he felt that he was a wanderer for life. No home could 
claim him long; his conscience was at its work. He staid a 
short time with his parents, but, when autumn came, was gone 
again. They tearfully bade him good-by, bat felt that he could 
not rest satisfied with them, so were reluctantly oblige to let him 
go. 

“Yes; I must be a wanderer, as I believe they said Nietta 
prophesied. Great God! when will I rest or feel satisfied?” 

A voice seemed to say, in his ear, “Not till the grave claims 
you.” 

♦ • 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

We will now return to the time when Albert made his escape, 
after killing Mr. Ainslie. He did not know, then, the result of 
his shot, supposing that it was Mr. Lee that he had injured. In 
his wild flight to elude the officers, he wandered aimlessly about, 
scarcely knowing whither he went, until he found himself, in the 
northern outskirts of Florence. He had caught a glimpse of 
Jack Dare, who had also started in pursuit. 

Jack was an adept in all the windings of the city, but was 
brought to a halt by the officer exclaiming, “We must find some 
other way to catch him,” and they took their way back again. 

Albert, in his terror, had left them far behind. Going at once 
to a diligence office he hired a conveyance and was soon speeding 
his way into Southern Italy. Arriving at a small town near the 
border, he hastened to cross over into Turkey, and made his way 
to Adrianople ; from there he passed as a wanderer through Tur- 
key and Austria, stopping here and there, seeking rest, finding 


99 


none. At last he determined to go to America, and see if he 
could get some intelligence of Mira or Elsie. He could stand it 
no longer; the terrible suspense was madness to endure. 

Arriving in Connecticut, he disguised himself in a manner, so 
that no chance acquaintance might recognize him, and by appar- 
ent careless inquiry, found out that Mira was dead. 

“Died,” they said, “insane, until her last hour when she knew 
everything. And,” said the loquacious landlord, “the man who 
is her murderer, still lives. Old Mr. Lee, with Mr, Ainslie, of 
New York, went to catch him, but he cut sticks and run. There’s 
always a ‘catching before a hanging,’ and, stranger, the meanest 
rascal on God’s earth is unhung yet. You see he thought to kill 
Mr. Lee, I suppose, but instead of that killed Mr. Ainslie. They 
say it broke his wife’s heart, and that she is dead; and that the 
daughter he abducted, now lies at death’s door.” 

Albert could bear no more; it was “the last drop” in his bucket 
of agony. The news that Elsie was lying at death’s door was 
enough for him. He hastened from the hotel with white face and 
set teeth, determined, come what would, to see Elsie for himself. 

“ Well, that stranger seemed to take the story mighty hard. 
Did you ever see such a white face? Shouldn’t wonder but what 
he is a relative to some of them,” said a person who was sitting 
in the room. 

Albert made no halt until he stood, as we have seen, at the door 
of Elsie’s home. He had gone to drinking, as he said, to drown 
his memory; and hence, the once handsome face was but a sem- 
blance of what it had been. 

But remorse was at its work, and Albert could not rest. The 
home of his parents was distasteful, and the aspect of the city was 
calculated to arouse old memories. He had desired his par- 
ents to let him remain unknown while there; so it was that when 
he found he could travel, he said to his father: 

“I have as good as robbed you, but I will return all that is left. 
I only ask you to send me such remittances as will pay my travel- 
ing expenses.” 


100 


“My son, you are forgiven all intention to harm me. You are 
our only child ; how can you leave us, who always took such a 
pride in you, and who still love you just the same?” 

“ Yes, father, I know this, but do you think a four-fold murderer 
can ever enjoy peace?” 

Mr. Leslie’s sad face was his only reply. “Albert, repent; 
God is good,” said the father. 

“Yes, yes, repent; you don’t know the meaning of the word,” 
said Albert, bitterly. “It is to feel all you have ever done through 
your passions and selfishness, come up as giant demons to curse 
you each day for whatever evil you may have done through them,” 
and Albert shuddered with memory’s pictures which were throng- 
ing his brain. “I will travel, father. Go, go, never to stop un- 
til I lay down to die. So, farewell, kind parents ; you may never 
see me again, but I will always bear you in fond remembrance.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Leslie bore the sad lot assigned them with forti- 
tude, they could not say, stay longer, when they saw the state of 
his mind ; while, with many sad misgivings, they remembered 
that they, too, had been to blame. The unchecked childhood, 
the daring boyhood, all the passions left to rule their only, petted 
child. Bow they remembered these things now, and sorrowed 
over their mistake. 

t+t 

CHAPTER XL1Y. 

We will enter Rosa’s home in the twilight hour, when all are 
gathered together in the pleasant parlor. Old Mr. Arnold is 
there, but the death angel will soon call him home ; nothing can 
keep him long, now, from the dear ones on the other side. Ernie 
is there with her pet blossom on her lap. Her clairvoyant eyes 
are looking far off into the misty realm of the summer-land. 

“Mr. Arnold,” she said, “I see Lilly by you, twining some 
beautiful flowers in your gray hair. She looks so lovely and 
angelic ” 


101 

“My angel child,” said Mr. Arnold, fondly. “I believe you 
Erme, for I feel her often near.” 

Mr. Arnold still held to the faith of his fathers. He had been 
a strict ritualist, but was ever governed by kindness and benev- 
olence, so that he never let prejudice sway his mind; but thought 
that all should enjoy the privilege of free discrimination. 

He entered freely into the discussion of the merits and demer- 
its of all things, striving to be just. He had led a pure life, 
devoted to doing good according to the light given him, so that 
he had nothing to fear. 

Sidney and Rosa loved him for his single-heartedness, and 
always strived to make him happy in his new home, so that at 
last, when death claimed him, his was a peaceful entrance into 
the beyond. The curtain of death closed down around him gently 
and quietly. He closed his eyes as if in sleep, and passed away 
as a babe in slumber. The spiritual eyesight of Erme saw him 
clasped in the waiting arms of wife and child, while shortly after- 
ward, Rosa, in the trance state, was controlled by his voice and 
said, 

“All is peace and joy; I have done my duty and entered into 
my reward!” 

It was in one of Sidney’s many happy musings, as he entered ’ 
his office, that he encountered a friend, a physician, who said : 

“ Sidney, there is a stranger at the hospital I attend, who, in the 
lucid moments that he has, keeps asking for Sidney Worth.” 

Sidney started quickly for a gleam of intuitive intelligence told 
him that it was Albert. “I am at your command, Doctor,” he 
said, briefly. 

“ Come, then, we will go and see them, for I fear that he will 
not last long.’ ’ 

“What is the disease?” asked Sidney. 

“Well, I cannot make it out exactly. He is rational enough at 
times, and then he seems to lose his mind and talk of strange 


102 

things. I think it is a brain affection, brought on by some terrible 
trouble. He is very weak and debilitated, and I fear that nothing 
can save him.” 

They walked with a quick pace, and entered the ward where 
the sick man lay. The instant that Sidney saw him, he recog- 
nized Albert, in spite of all the changes his face had undergone. 
The dark hair was half gray, the handsome flowing beard was 
closely shaven, and the eyes looked out the same, except that there 
were, transient gleams of wildness in their dark hazel depths. 

“Oh! Sidney, you have come at last.” exclaimed the sick man. 

“Yes, Albert, I came as soon as the doctor told me of you. 

The doctor left them to themselves, for he saw in the quivering 
muscles of both that they were long-lost friends. 

“Albert,” said Sidney, gently, “I will have you removed to my 
own home, and Rosa, with myself, will nurse you back to health 
again.” 

“No, Sidney, I cannot live, for here is the consuming fire,” 
and he struck his heart with his feeble hand. “I have never 
found rest since — since all was darkness.” 

“Yes, yes, Albert; I understand that, but you need care and 
attention.” 

Sympathy, he would have added, but the words died at his lips : 
for he had no sympathy for Albert’s past deeds. Then, at Albert’s 
wistful look, Sidney said : 

“My creed teaches me to have charity; it is not I who should 
judge of mortals like myself. I leave that to the individual 
soul.” 

“Then, indeed, am I judged fearfully,” said Albert; “but I 
will go home with you. The sight of you has done me more good 
than all the medicine in the world. 

“I will come for you inside the next hour,” said Sidney, and, 
pressing Albert’s hand kindly, he hurried forth to seek Rosa and 
tell her the strange news. 


103 

Rosa was all attention to the strange tale of woe, “Sidney,” 
she said, “I have had a premonition that we should see Albert. 
To be sure I will try to aid him to strength again. This, you 
know, is the teaching that we receive from the angel world — ‘To 
do good to all that we can reach.’ ” 

“Yes, darling wife, I am thankful each day for the privilege we 
enjoy of inter-communion.” 

Sidney went with his carriage and provided comfortable tran- 
sition for Albert, to his home. 

»■>♦■»♦ - — 

CHAPTRR XLY. 

And so it was that Albert found himself on a soft bed, with 
downy pillows and kind hands to minister to his few needs, for 
he lay now in a apathetic condition; it seemed as if the brain 
forces were worn out, and that the vital spark had but a slender 
hold. 

Rosa and Sidney were all kindness and attention. They tele- 
graphed to his parents, who started at the warning, hurrying as 
fast as possible to the sick bed of their son. Albert still lingered 
from day; he had no fear of death, but only kept longing for 
peace and rest. 

“It will soon be over, Sidney,” he said, one day, as the sunset 
tinge of the golden rays lit up his sick room. “It was just such 
a day as this when Elsie died, so far away from here. Dear El- 
sie,” he murmured, “I know that she will forgive me, when she 
knows all I have suffered, for, truly, ‘The way of the transgressor 
is hard.’ Retribution came, and repentance followed after. 
Thank God! Sidney, your life-line has been so different.” 

“I do thank him each day,” said Sidney, with emotion; “for 
he has led me to see that each day bears its own record, and that 
the soul must sometime read aright.” 


104 


Albert pressed his friend’s hand for an answer. 

Rosa quietly wept, in her full sympathy for all sorrow. The 
next day his father and mother arrived. They felt stricken at 
the sight of their much-loved boy, but saw it was unwise to wish 
him to remain, now that his troubles were so nearly over. 

Again another sunset illuminated the room ; fleecy curtains 
were swayed by the evening breeze, coming from old ocean, with 
its invigorating power, but Albert was not to be revived. The 
presence of death was there, and his friends knew that his mission 
would soon be accomplished. The breath of flowers floated 
around him as he breathed a farewell to each kind friend. “I 
come, Elsie, Mira, Dora; I see you all. Farewell earth; I go to 
meet my judgment.” 

Again the vision of Erme was opened, and she saw him kneel- 
ing at Dora’s feet. The bright spirit of a now happy home gently 
lifted him up with these words: “I forgive you; ‘Go sin no more.’ ” 

Again he knelt by Mira’s side, with penitent, bowed head. Her 
mild voice said: “Thou hast sinned and suffered; go in peace; I 
forgive thee the wrong thou hast done me.” ' 

He then arose, and passed to Elsie’s side. Her hands were 
outstretched to receive him, and Erme heard these words : “ Albert, 
your heart toward me was pure. I have nought to forgive ; come 
with me.” 

They entered a beautiful bower, where stood her father and 
mother to receive them. This time Albert bowed his head and 
shed bitter tears. 

“Father,” he said, “forgive me; I knew not what I had done.'’ 

The answer was: “Go, my son; we have no reward to give, 
nor will we burden you with further condemnation, for, already, 
has your soul meted out to you, your judgment. Your sufferings 
have been in proportion as you meant to injure. In this new life 
there will be a reward given for every new effort to shake off all 
that has hitherto impeded you in your progression. Go forth, 


105 

now, in this your new home, and strive to do your best, and El- 
sie, our child, will be your reward.” 

Erme saw him pass out of sight, and then the beautiful spirits 
who had come to introduce him to spirit-life, disappeared. The 
father and mother were deeply affected by Erme’s vision. They 
felt that the pure girl saw and spoke of a living truth. 

They laid his body away in mother earth — over whose bosom 
he had traveled a weary wanderer, and thus Nietta’s prophesy 
became fulfilled. 

The parents tarried awhile in the hospitable home of Sidney 
and Rosa, often receiving messages through her and Erme, from 
those, “not lost, but gone before.” Albert would come and tell 
of his progression, of anxious hopes ef entire reformation, and 
how he hoped to soon claim Elsie as his spirit-bride. He gave 
much information to his parents of how ante-natal conditions and 
influences produced bad results, of the responsibility of parents 
toward children ; and many wise words were implanted within 
their souls by the newly redeemed son — not redeemed through any 
one’s blood, but by personal efforts to overcome the evil within — 
receiving, as he said, all the symyathy and aid that he needed 
from those who desired to do him good. 

At last Mr. and Mrs. Leslie took their way homeward, feeling 
that “it was good to be there,” and resigned to the loss of 
their child if it was, as they felt, his eternal gain. 

» «•» ♦ 

CHAPTER XLYI. 

Time passed on, Rosa’s home was still the same abode of peace 
A few changes had occurred ; another child, a little boy had come 
to claim their love and attention. 

Sidney came one evening with two letters. “See here Rosa, 
what a curious specimen of penmanship. One of these letters 


106 

looks as as if it liad traveled the world over, and is directed to 
Mr. Arnold in my care.” 

They proceeded to open it, and found to their joy that it was 
from Nietta. She stated that after leaving the Ainslie home, she 
took her way back to her native land ; that by accident she met 
with Jack Dare who had heard of her through the parson, and 
that she had heard of her through the same source. Jack went 
on to state that they had hitched up a team for life and already 
had a pair of twin boys. He had named one after his parson, 
and thought perhaps he could find him a name for the other. He 
said that he would have named them both after him, but if he 
had, for the life of him it could never be told, which was who, or 
who, which. 

Rosa laughed her gay laugh and said she would tell him that 
she knew another good man, and that he had better call him Sid- 
ney. 

So they gleaned from the letter that they were very happy and 
“Had a nice little home all their own,” Jack said. He had writ- 
ten a warm invitation to the old gentleman to come and make 
their home his own ; he did not know that his minister had found 
a still better home in the beyond. 

Sidney and Rosa wrote a full, kind letter in return, stating the 
facts of Mr. Arnold’s death, his happy transition to his spirit home 
and ended by asking Jack and Nietta to come some day and visit 
them in their Western home in California. 

The other letter was from Grandma Ainslie to Rosa, in answer 
to one from her lately sent. It stated that they were doing well. 
Willie, Elsie’s boy, was sweet and happy and growing finely, she 
said. She was thankful for the many kind favors that she had 
received from Rosa, but to her invitation to come and live with 
them, she said. 

“I can never leave the graves ‘over there.’ I shall feel it my 
duty, while life lasts, to care for them as no strangers will. So, 
you see dear friends, that I must remain here until I, too, am 


107 

called hence. Mr. and Mrs. Leslie are to have Willie, to rear to 
manhood. I cannot last but a few years# longer, but I hope long 
enough to implant many seeds of good in my dear boy’s heart.” 

The trembling penmanship told of age’s advancement. Sid- 
ney and Rosa united in encomiums upon old grandma’s head. 

“Bless her dear old heart,” said Rosa; “I always did love her.” 

Then taking Sidney’s arm , she motioned to Erme who was qui- 
etly listening to the letters. 

“Come Erme,” she said, “I feel the presence of angel friends; 
let us go to our altar — not of sacrifice, but of thanksgiving. 

They all adjourned to a small alcoved room set apart for the 
communion of friends departed. 

Sidney was quite a fine physical medium, who gave many good 
tests through this phase of spirit return. Rosa was a good trance 
speaker, often giving beautiful discourses and messages from the 
spirit shore. But Erme was the best of all for her clairvoyance 
was very clear; nothing came between her and the beautiful gift. 

After sitting a short time she exclaimed; “Oh I how beautiful!” 
her face lighting up with a rapturous joy. “I see Albert advan- 
cing forward; he looks very different from any time that I have 
seen him before. His face is radiant with with some new joy. 
Oh! I see; there is Elsie. She walks up beside him. Oh! how 
beautiful she looks in her flowing robe of white, with lovely flow- 
ers in her hair and passed as a girdle around her waist. See, they 
unwind the wreath and fasten it around Albert also ; I see them 
join hands, and there is Mr. Arnold, who lays his hand upon 
theirs, and I hear him say; “There has been division and sadness, 
henceforth let there be peace and joy. You are one by the di- 
vine law of love, with the proper sanction of our spirit land. Go 
now as husband and wife; dwell in harmony and eternal love; 
seek to ever go upward and then will you be truly blessed. Now 
I hear music soft as many ^Eolian harps, but sweeter, far. The 
voices of loving friends mingle in congratulations. 

The scene fades, and they are gone; but I hear Mira say; 'Tell 


108 

father, that I too am happy, and that I have a home prepared for 
him/ Another voice says; ‘I am Dora, one who thought only of 
revenge ; but spirit life opened my eyes to see that revenge 
falls heaviest on the avenger. So I was led at last by kind hands 
to see the truth and have tasted of the ‘Bread of life,’ and ‘drank 
of the pure waters,* to quench my thirst — ‘the bread of happiness, 
and water of joy/ 

And so we will leave them, drinking in the “good news and 
glad tidings” spoken of by one of old. We will come again to 
portray the future lives of those who will grow from childhood 
to manhood and womanhood. 

THE SNB. 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


